


middle of somewhere (with you)

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Nerd Bucky Barnes, New York City, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pop Culture, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Social Media, Technology, Texting, i mean it isn't a textfic but, i'm sorry ik nobody asked for this, so many vine references, thank you for making that a tag, vine references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Hey Sam! This is Maria. Fury says he found a guy frozen in the alps like Steve. Think he knows anything?The toast falls off the edge of Steve's fork on its way to his mouth.'The Alps,' he mutters under his breath, before glancing up at Sam. 'Do they—uh, what do they know?'"or: hydra doesn't find bucky, fury does. thus ensues the pining, dumbass 90-year-old bisexuals, and 21st-century adjustments.
Relationships: Everyone & Everyone, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 26
Kudos: 223





	1. Chapter 1

It all starts, as things do, with a text on a lazy morning.

"What're we doing next, Captain?"

Steve is sitting at Sam's dining table, watching as Sam brings over two identical plates loaded with French toast and scrambled eggs. It's strangely domestic, their living together after the Winter Soldier mission, but Steve didn't have anywhere else to go and Sam loves having people over.

"Laying low, waiting for all this to blow over," Steve says absently, pouring syrup generously over the stack sitting on his plate, then spreading it around with his knife neatly.

"No more adventures?"

"Well, I can't promise _no_ adventures, but for now, we're just keeping quiet."

"We are, technically, criminals," Sam points out.

Steve grins. "Ain't that the truth."

"Hey, have you and Stark been in touch lately? Talking about reassembling the Avengers anytime soon?"

"Why would we?"

Sam stares at him for a few seconds, gauging his expression. Something clicks.

"You seriously—man, Fury's all alone, off in some country looking for other secrets that Hydra kept from us, and you ask _why?_ "

"I mean, we didn't get back together when we found the organization, so–"

"You're avoiding talking to him, aren't you," Sam states flatly, and Steve's face freezes into that of a deer in headlights. "C'mon, man, he can't possibly be that bad."

Steve widens his eyes, fumbling for the old Samsung thing Sam mocks him for constantly. "I don't think he's bad!" he exclaims, voice higher than usual. "I just. Haven't talked to him. Since we almost died together."

"You're a drama queen," Sam rolls his eyes.

"Am not," he protests lightly, scrolling through his contacts and clicking Tony's name, and it rings one, two, three times before he picks up.

"Hey, Mr. Captain! To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Hey, Tony," Steve sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"You sound tired. Had a mission lately?"

"Something like that. Hydra's been growing in SHIELD, so we took them and their five Winter Soldiers down."

"Winter Soldiers? What're those?"

"Super-skilled assassins that they kept in cryo and only released when the whole organization went under threat."

"And they just… complied?" Tony sounds fascinated. Sam really hopes he isn't drawing up plans to freeze soldiers.

"They had to. There was basically a set of trigger words and—okay, this isn't why I called, Tony. I called because Fury's off finding Hydra bases, but there's only so much he can do alone–"

"So you want to reassemble the Avengers," Tony interrupts. "Had to happen eventually. Hey, did I tell you that I had my life threatened by a terrorist when we were all broken up?"

"What in the–"

"Oh, yeah, I remember that!" Sam exclaims. "Man named the Mandarin. He used to hijack my Iron Chef time, which, by the way, was annoying as hell. Thanks for taking him down, man."

"I'm sorry, am I on speakerphone?" Tony asks incredulously.

"Sorry, Tony, this is my friend Sam. He was a huge help to the Winter Soldier mission. Couldn't have done it without him."

"I mean…" he starts protesting as he pops an egg into his mouth. He didn't really _do_ much, just offer emotional support and run after Steve into battle. Not his brightest idea, but he did meet some cool people because of it, so he isn't really complaining.

"No, Sam, I mean it. I really couldn't have."

"Quit making googly eyes at your helper friend and come back to me. Sam, you are very welcome, and wasn't the whole season a nail-biter? I mean, from–"

"Tony," Steve interrupts again (and isn't there a lot of that going on in today's call?), "please focus."

"Right. Okay. Well, if we wanna offer everyone a place to stay, my tower's big enough, and I can fix up a few rooms for all of you if that would help. Will Sam be coming with you?"

"I'm cool," he replies before Steve can say anything. "Don't wanna intrude on this whole 'Earth's mightiest heroes' thing you guys got going on. I'll just watch the news and worry for your sorry ass from home."

"Good idea," Tony says.

"I'm not saying we have to do this anytime soon, just that we should all be in the know. We'll probably only need to go into action when Fury reports something."

"You'll still be using this number?"

"Sure." Sam's phone chimes and he glances down at it, subtly angling it so Steve can't see. "Bye, Tony."

"Bye, Cap."

The call ends with a _click_.

"I was right, it wasn't that bad," Sam says.

"Shut up," Steve grumbles in reply.

"Anyways, I've got a bit of news." Another nonchalant bite of egg. "Fury's found a very non-Hydra secret in the mountains."

"Who told you?"

"Agent Hill."

Steve's face immediately shifts into the same suggestive raise of eyebrows Riley used when Sam had a crush in middle school. It makes Sam question if it was a 26-year-old they gave the serum to or a 12-year-old.

"You got her number?" he teases.

"Shut _up_ , I'm a damn professional who knows my people when I meet them," Sam claims, feigning nonchalance.

"Oh? So you knew I was 'your people' when I kept running past you on our morning jogs?"

"Don't say 'our', you prick, you always ran ahead!"

"I'm just saying," he concludes, palms out in surrender, chuckling at Sam's mock glare.

"Anyways, Fury found a dude in the ice, frozen just like you were."

"I'm not special anymore?" Steve digs into his pile of toast with a fork and knife, sawing a perfectly triangular piece off the corner.

"Yeah, Steve, being frozen for 70 years is the only thing that makes you simple."

They stick their tongues out at each other like five-year-olds.

"Can they tell from how long ago?"

"Dunno. This is all she said." He turns the screen so Steve can see.

_Hey Sam! This is Maria. Fury says he found a guy frozen in the alps like Steve. Think he knows anything?_

The toast falls off the edge of Steve's fork on its way to his mouth.

"The Alps," he mutters under his breath, before glancing up at Sam. "Do they—uh, what do they know?"

"You good?" Sam questions, feeling his eyebrows knit together in concern. Why would Steve be so worried? Does he seriously think he'll be replaced? No, Steve isn't that stupid. Maybe he knows the guy. Who could've fallen—oh.

_The Alps._

"I'll ask what they know," he says quickly, sending his fingers in a flurry across the screen.

Steve is suddenly ravenous, eating what he dropped right off the table before re-attacking the pile of greasy and sugary paradise, knife scraping across the porcelain aggressively. Sam glances between him and the three dots bouncing on the screen worriedly.

His phone chimes again.

"Fury had to take him to the closest SHIELD base he could find. He's safe in the wings. Why?" he reads aloud.

"Tell her I think it's Bucky Barnes, the only Howling Commando who died in action," Steve replies.

Sam types back.

"It makes sense, honestly, that it was Bucky," he starts ranting around a mouthful of food. "He was captured in action and experimented on. When I found him, he was strapped down to a bed and drugged half out of his mind. Recited his position and ID digit-by-digit, like it was the only thing he knew. He was delirious when I picked him up, looking at me like I was just a dream. He could barely walk without my help, much less formulate consecutive thoughts. All he asked me was what happened to me, because the last he saw me I was barely 90 pounds soaking wet and he worries way too much." Steve feels his cheeks pink at the direction his speech had revolted . What was he saying? Right. "Whatever Zola did to him must have made so he didn't break every single bone when he fell, and he probably burrowed into the ice so he wouldn't be found by Hydra. It's a miracle that Fury found him, and it'll be a miracle if he even–"

He cuts himself off and grabs his cup of orange juice, pulling it so fast it sloshes precariously, and taking a giant gulp. He holds it close to his mouth and very pointedly does not look at Sam.

"He can make it," Sam assures him once he's done panicking, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "If he's gotten frozen, he can get thawed just fine, too."

Steve takes another shuddering breath. "You think so?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't."

He looks up and meets his eyes only for a second before flickering down at his ringing mobile. Steve leans forward, as if against his own accord, and Sam holds it out for him to read first.

_Get ready. We're sending you over to Switzerland in about two weeks._

xxx

Sam's regretting tagging along.

It isn't the traveling, whether trekking an airport on foot, boarding a plane, or folding his legs more than they should be folded in a taxi to fit all their luggage, because Sam's used to all that. It only takes about ten and a half hours (not including the four hours they spent at the DC airport before their plane arrived because Steve said they could never have too much time), with an eight-hour nonstop flight from DC to Zürich, half an hour worth of them strolling around the Zürich airport aimlessly before Sam offered to use his French skills to get help, one-and-a-half-hour drive from Zürich to Andermatt, and ten minutes of hotel lobby confusion to get where they need to be. It certainly is not the traveling that bothers him.

No, it's the sheer amount of Bucky stories that he's heard in those ten point five (and counting) hours that are slowly but surely driving him insane. Steve won't stop ranting about how good he was with the ladies (presumably before they started dating each other) and his excellent sniping skills (Sam's been to the Captain America exhibit, okay, he knows) and his digustingly maternal instincts when it came to Steve's dumbassery (which makes sense, because he's met Steve Rogers and having a first aid kit and maybe handcuffs on you at all times tends to be important).

He had thought he'd stop once they get to the hotel. No such luck. All Steve does is toss his suitcase to the side, flop backwards on the (singular) bed and start talking again, watching the ceiling as if he can see the stories playing out on it.

It's midnight in Sweden. Steve's been at this since 3:30 AM, Washington, D.C.

"Did I tell you that he had this little black leather journal, kind of like my sketchbooks, and he used to write in them? I'm not sure if they were fictional stories or a diary of his day-to-day life, but he kept with him all the time. Once, I tried to open it, when he left it on the table in the library…"

Sam peels his body off the wall he's leaning against, shucks his shirt off, and throws it right next to his friend's dreamy, teenager-in-love face, though his aim is thrown off a little by how fuzzy his vision is getting with the combination of sleep deprivation and a headache pounding in his brain. Steve doesn't even blink.

"…and there was this tiny lock keeping it shut, so I started looking around for the key, digging around his backpack and under the chair…"

Sam digs through his own backpack where he rolled up all his outfits to save space (thank you, Pinterest!), grabs the bundle that resembles his pajamas, and heads into the bathroom.

"…so when Bucky came back, he was all–"

Sam turns on the shower and prays for his sanity.

xxx

"You can go in and see him now," a nurse says pleasantly, exiting Bucky's hospital room and smiling at them where they're seated in those weird webby hospital chairs next to his door before walking off down the hall.

Steve stands up so quickly it almost makes Sam dizzy (though, thankfully, he's nursing on a coffee from the café near the hotel and got a solid six hours of sleep, so he isn't seeing double like last night) and practically throws the door open before marching inside.

 _Well, if Bucky wasn't ready for Steve nearly breaking the hospital to bits to get to him, the nurse would've said so,_ thinks Sam as he dutifully follows.

The first thing he notices, as the door swings shut behind them, is the emptiness of the room. There aren't any machines cluttering Bucky's bedside, not even a heart monitor, so he's simply laying on a straight cot with a blanket tucked over his body with care, eyes fluttering open at the sudden commotion.

He paws at the sheets in confusion, then props himself up on his elbows and surveys his surroundings, eyes taking forever to land on the two men near the door.

"'Lo?" he greets them drowsily, unfocusedly.

He looks just like the pictures, with a chiseled square jaw covered by the kind of "man hair" that Sam can't grow and little dimple in his chin and chapped rosy lips and tired blue-grey eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes that warm up as soon as he catches sight of Steve. Gone, however, is the stiffness and worry of the pictures taken of him in war, replaced by contentment and a lingering tinge of puzzlement.

"Bucky," Steve exhales, rushing over to his side.

"Steve?" He reaches out and touches his face, expression slack and disbelieving, and Steve stoops lower so he has better access. "Am I dead?"

Steve chuckles, a wet and choked sort of sound, and smiles at him like he's the only thing right with the world, and it's so intimate and gut-wrenchingly adorable that Sam'll probably never enjoy a rom-com ever again.

"Not dead," he promises, seeming to savor the words as they leave his mouth. "Not dead."

"So you guys aren't gonna kiss or anything?" Sam interjects, because Steve practically has "sucker for love" written across his forehead and hearts in his eyes. Besides, their faces are, like, two inches apart. Not gonna take a lot of effort.

Steve flushes red.

 _Maybe he isn't a PDA sort of guy,_ one side of Sam's brain points out.

 _Seventy years is enough to make an exception,_ the other side argues.

"We're not dating," Bucky says, patting a confused Steve on the head with what appears to be his only hand. "Dunno what he told you, but we're not."

"I…" The words _you sure?_ grace the tip of his tongue, but shock holds them back. Now's not the time to push the two, not when they're having their touching reunion and all.

Besides, he kind of wants to see how long it takes them to figure it out themselves.

"Hey, don't flatter yourself, Buck," Steve shoots back. "I didn't say anything."

Sam furrows his brows. "I beg to differ."

Steve turns around and glares at Sam, but the way his mouth quirks up like he knows he's right completely ruins the effect. Sam simply smirks in response.

"Who are you?" Bucky asks.

"Sam Wilson." He walks forward, making sure to hold out his left hand for Bucky to shake.

"Bucky Ba–"

"There's an entire exhibit for you in the Smithsonian, I'm pretty sure I know who you are."

"There's an exhibit?"

"A Captain America one, highlighting all the stupid stuff your best friend–" he stumbles over the first 'b', nearly saying 'boyfriend' instead "–has done."

"Pal, it'd take an entire continent to get through the shit he got up to in the first decade of his life."

_I like him._

"You are the worst," Steve grumbles. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to bring Sam with me. Now you two are never going to stop trashing me."

Bucky ruffles his hair and grins up at Sam. "Did they put the grenade story in the museum?"

"Yep." They both exchange a _I can't believe this man actually exists and he did that, for real_ look.

"Do they know how terrible he was with his shield when he first got it?"

"No," Sam says, delighted. "Do please tell me more."

"Don't," Steve whines. "Okay, Buck, you good to stand? We should probably get going.

"Do you know basic things? Like what year it is?" Sam asks.

"Uh, 2014? Nurse Betty told me."

"Do you know anything else?"

"Not much. I'll find out when we leave."

"Doubt it," Steve says, hauling the brunette off the bed. "This is a little village, not super modern. I honestly don't know why SHIELD even has a base here."

"Maria said it was because Fury had a 'friend' in the area," Sam shrugs as he holds the door open, Steve's arm slung over Bucky's shoulders.

"So an enemy."

"Probably."

"In the Swiss countryside?"

"Hey, it's Fury. You never know."

"And I thought SHIELD shut down?"

"Kind of. This… I guess it's a base converted to a hospital, then? I don't know, man. SHIELD doesn't make any sense to me."

"What's SHIELD?" Bucky asks.

"It was this spy organization that had agents to keep the weird shit that happened in the world in check," Sam explains. "They got involved with superheroes too, just to make sure they're in check and weren't using their power for bad," Sam explains.

"What happened to it? Oh, by the way, we need to turn here to check me out in the lobby."

They turn. "Well, Hydra was growing within SHIELD, right from when it started, using its power for bad. To expose Hydra's lies and secrets, we had to expose SHIELD's, too, because they were both practically the same thing," Steve says.

"Had a whole algorithm, too, to identify threats to Hydra and wipe them out with explosives. They planned to rack up thousands of 'threats' at a time, then pinpoint their locations and shoot them out. And at the same time, there were these soldiers that worked for Hydra, internationally-trained assassins that they released when there was the threat of their organization falling, and we had to take care of that, too."

"When you say 'we'…" Bucky prompts.

"Natasha Romanoff, who could probably kill you with her right foot, Maria Hill, this cool agent that Sam's been talking to–"

"Steve!"

Bucky grins at him lopsidedly. Steve, the bastard, simply smirks before continuing.

"–I'm not sorry, and then there's Nick Fury, who ran SHIELD and is still doing undercover work today and found you." And then, as an afterthought: "And Sam and I were there too."

"'And Sam and I were there too,'" Sam mimicks in an exaggeratedly low-pitched voice. "He came back from his fight with the final Winter Soldier all cut up and bleeding, with at least four deep cuts and ten surface-level gashes, and had the audacity to call his injuries 'minor'. And he still jumped out of the burning plane— _with all the cuts,_ mind you—without a parachute and landed safely."

Bucky's smile freezes on somewhere bordering dangerous as he steps away from Steve then twists his neck, almost robotically, to stare at him, and Sam is suddenly _terrified_ for Steve but at the same time is incredibly entertained.

"Oh, really?" he asks, and Steve looks like he's breaking out in a cold sweat as he smiles nervously. "What else did he do?"

Steve's eyes dart up to meet Sam's. _Please don't tell him,_ they beg. 

Sam slowly looks to Bucky, whose expression is more murderous than anyone he's encountered in the past few weeks (which is a big deal, considering Natasha Romanoff is among those people).

"Hey, look!" he exclaims, maybe too loud, and smiles wide. "We're at the lobby!"

It's a stupid change of topic if there ever was one, but Bucky doesn't get to voice that concern because Steve nods vehemently.

"Let's ask how to check you out, huh?" he asks, far too brightly, and steers (read: manhandles) him over to the counter.

"Seems like you're doing a lot of checking out, Steve," Sam mutters under his breath as he walks away, taking his phone out and swiping to the groupchat he created with Maria and Natasha.

_Me: they are the dumbest of asses_

_Maria: That's not how it works_

_Me: why tf are you up already_

_Maria: It's only 6:00 am here_

_Me: ah_

_Me: yeah idrk how the timezones work_

_Me: also you get what i'm saying_

_Me: it's the principle of the thing_

_Me: they're idiots_

_Me: and it turns out they aren't actually dating???_

_Natasha: you didn't know that?_

_Me: you did?_

_Maria: I did_

_Natasha: me too_

_Me: wtf_

_Me: rogers talked abt him for 15 hours ON END yesterday_

_Me: pardon me for thinking that meant something_

_Natasha: 15 hours?_

_Me: fine, 14 and a half_

_Natasha: are you serious?_

_Me: like it might've been lower but it was several consecutive hours of bucky this and bucky that_

_Me: at least the guy's actually living up to my expectations_

_Maria: You aren't going to try to ask him out, are you?_

_Me: steve is very clearly in love with that ass_

_Me: no moves from my side_

_Natasha: hey_

_Natasha: nasties_

_Natasha: quit flirting in the groupchat_

"Sam!" Steve calls. He snaps his head up, nods as Steve gives him a thumbs up.

_Me: gtg ttyl_

_Natasha: don't fall in love with him_

_Maria: I'm with her on this one_

_Sam: i just said i wouldn't you pricks_

__

"Why're you smiling?" Steve teases. Sam jumps.

"When did yo–"

"What's that?" Bucky points at his phone, eyes bright with wonder. Sam surreptitiously closes the iMessage app as Steve turns to look at his friend, flicking Do Not Disturb on before pressing the device into Bucky's hand.

"It's a phone," he replies. Bucky narrows his eyes.

"This is not a phone. The two-piece chunks of plastics–" he makes a vague gesture with his hand, which is clenched around the phone, presumably mimicking the shape "– _those_ were phones. Not this."

"Smartphone, then. Same idea."

Bucky grips it unsteadily with his fingers, taps the screen shakily with his thumb when it starts to darken. "What're all these buttons?" he asks, finger ghosting the bright square of the Doodle Jump app. It opens. "Whoa!"

"That's a game," Steve tells him. Bucky, fascinated, presses 'play'.

"How do I do this?"

"Just tap and tilt the screen so you can move him onto the platforms."

Sam suddenly has an irrational want to record them, both hunched over a tiny piece of technology in the lobby of a hospital, Steve shooting his best friend soft, private smiles when he isn't looking, and silently mourns the fact that he won't be able to.

 _Oh, well,_ he thinks. _They'll give me plenty of material later._

xxx

They do give him plenty of material.

Bucky's enamored by every single different thing about the world, starting from the Uber they hitch to the hotel.

"It's so sleek!" he exclaims as he gets in, even though it's a painfully average SUV, but it makes the driver smile.

"That's how cars are now," Steve says, sliding in next to him.

"Some run on electricity," Sam adds, and Bucky's mouth drops open again.

Then there's the first coffeeshop they take him to.

"What's that?"

"That's a coffee machine."

"Why do they have so many?"

"They make a lot of different kinds of coffee."

"What's that?"

"A blender."

"And that?"

"…I'm actually not sure. I think they might pump syrups from there."

"What should I order?"

"You'd like the mocha."

"What's that?"

"It's a coffee with chocolate in it."

"I have never been more thankful to have fallen from a train."

He says similar things all the way to the hotel, then in the hotel, then out of the hotel to their car to Zürich the next day. He's in love with every "modern" thing there is, from the mini fridge ("ohmygodit'sadorable") to the casually-worn denim ("need to get me a few pairs of those") to the flat-screen TVs ("remember when these were giant boxes?") and Steve's practically eating it up, nodding along and grinning affectionately. In fact, it happens so often that Sam has created an entire Vine account dedicated to secretly recording their interactions, and by the end of the day, he's posted about fifteen videos and every single one of them has gone viral. Bucky keeps asking to play Doodle Jump, and Sam always obliges, feeling, for all it's worth, like a father with an adult phone-obsessed child.

"Was he like this before?" Sam asks Steve quietly that evening when they're both sitting on the bed together (and _boy,_ what an eventful day it's been), nodding to Bucky, who's curled up on a chair in the hotel room and watching reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air with the exact kind of studious focus you aren't supposed to watch The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air with, taking out Steve's phone from time to time and Googling words or phrases he doesn't understand.

"Always. Back in school, his biology notes were always the most detailed in the class, and he was pretty good at math. As we got older, he started dragging me off to museums and science conventions and pointed out everything he knew. He's a lot smarter than people expect or give him credit for, which always bothers me. They assume that his pretty face makes him stupid, which is just not true, you know? Sometimes, I think even _he_ doesn't realize how clever he can be." Steve's eyes dart to Bucky, mouth curling into a fond smile, before meeting Sam's again.

"Very cute," he says, deciding not to comment on the "pretty face" part. His phone chimes.

_Maria: You created a Vine account?_

Sam unlocks it to respond with a victorious grin on his face.

_Sam: what else was i supposed to do_

_Sam: they're adorable_

_Maria: Hey, I'm not complaining_

_Maria: It is pretty charming_

_Maria: Have you done anything fun in Switzerland?_

_Sam: other than picking up a melted popsicle and showing him the world, no_

_Maria: When are you coming back?_

_Sam: tomorrow_

_Sam: like 1 pm dc time_

_Sam: what've you been doing after the ws mission?_

_Maria: I've kinda been the guy in the chair for Fury_

_Maria: And been looking at SHIELD funds, where to redistribute them, what to do with bases_

__

Sam tries not to sigh audibly like a pining fool, but Maria's so smart and pretty that he does it anyways, earning a glance over his shoulder and teasing jab in his side from Steve (who is a five-year-old boy in a buff-ass body) before realizing that he has to reply.

Sam: oh oh oh

Sam: speaking of which

Sam: that hospital we went to today to get mr frozone, you called it a shield base

Sam: but like??? shield is dead?

Maria: Don't call him Frozone, it's inaccurate

Maria: Also

Maria: The hospital used to just be a cover for the base

Maria: But I think we're transitioning it to an actual base base

Sam: that makes so much more sense

Sam: damn this all sounds stressful

Sam: do you ever catch a break?

Maria: Not really, I've mostly just sat at home for the past week or so

Sam: cool

"That was the perfect opportunity to ask her on a date," Steve points out. Sam jumps.

"Dude, I swear to God–"

"Who didn't Sam ask out?" Bucky asks, craning his neck to look at them.

"I don't want to make her uncomfortable."

"She looked like she wanted to eat you alive when she first saw you–"

"That's an exaggeration, Maria Hill is a woman of honor."

"I am no longer interested in your conversation, so please keep it down," Bucky informs them, and turns back to the TV.

"I'm not saying she isn't, but we all have our moments, especially our Sam Wilson-related moments–"

"We were in a potentially dangerous situation and I was an unfamiliar face, so for all she knew I could be an intruder–"

"–because he's so charming and good at cooking and helpful and kind–"

"–besides, I'm just an average guy that got thrown into a group of stupid attractive superheroes, don't try flattering me–"

"–and humble, apparently, so you'd treat her well–"

"–you're Captain America, so shut up–"

"–at least, better than anyone else who'd try hitting on her–"

"Hey, I don’t hit on her!"

"Never said you did, I said other people might."

"Hmm?"

"Seriously, what're you waiting for?"

"I already told you I don't want to make her uncomfortable."

Steve makes a a _nghhhghghgh_ sound in exasperation. "You two are idiots, you know that? You like each other. Do something."

"It's just casual, man," he says, and it takes all his self-control to not yell about the absolute hypocrisy of it all. "We haven't been in love for the past century or anything dramatic like that. It's fine."

Steve's eyes widen in an _can he tell? did I make it too obvious? what do I do now?_ expression, and Sam kind of wants to do an evil full-body witch cackle (and while he's on the magic theme, brew a love potion or truth serum or some other stupid Harry Potter shit) but keeps his lips pressed together and unlocks his phone again, letting it open up to his chat with Maria.

Dammit, that _was_ the perfect place to ask her out.

xxx

"–and so she's telling everyone at the party that he jumped on the grenade, sounding the most affectionate we've ever heard her sound, and everyone laughs because _isn't it cute? him practically committing suicide?_ , but I'm glaring right at Stevie, who's sweating nervously from next to Carter, and Morita has to coax me out of yelling at him in front of everyone, taking my glass out of my hand 'cause I'm holding it tight enough to break it."

They've gotten through security at the Zürich airport, which was more fun than usual because Bucky was obsessed with the metal detector and the giant screens and announcement systems, and thanks to the generous four hours in advance that Steve had them set aside for pre-plane rituals (again), they've snagged a spot at a Starbucks near their gate armed with their morning coffee, the random glass-case coffeeshop treats Bucky insisted on buying ("it's a hands-on way to educate myself on the century"), and their bags.

Steve groans, putting his drink down. "I wasn't that scared."

"Oh, and I mentioned how uncoordinated he was with his shield earlier, didn't I?" Bucky asks Sam.

"You did, actually, and I'm a little curious now," Sam says, crossing his ankles under the table.

"Buck, don't."

"Well, he'd just gotten his fancy frisbee of death and hadn't realized what all he could do with it," Bucky drawls sarcastically and Sam all but snorts, making Bucky (still staring at Steve) crack a grin. "He used to leave it lying around, forget where he put it, and trip over. Or, when he ran with it, he used to either stumble or hit himself in the face. It was hilarious."

"You can stop there, Bucky," Steve interjects with a glare. Bucky's grin grows.

"But I haven't gotten to the part about the rocks!"

"Don't tell him the part about the rocks!"

"Basically, Steve couldn't defend with his shield, like, at all. There was this one time we went into a Hydra base and he got shot in the leg and I had to remind him that he can only protect whatever part of him's behind the shield, so he said, "Oh, sure, please do help me practice." The next day, he had me throw pebbles at him for him to practice blocking. Unfortunately for him, I've got a wicked shot, even when it comes to throwing stuff, 'cause I was a baseball _legend_ in school. Anyways, he got a ton of nasty bruises. We—the Commandos, we used to bunk together—used to count 'em, one by one, when he took his uniform off to change at night, and celebrate when there were less than the previous day."

"I wasn't even supposed to be able to bruise," Steve grumbles, crossing his arm and hunching his shoulders in, finally accepting defeat. "I dunno how, but I wasn't, and Bucky found a way around it."

"Don't flatter me, Captain, you know I wasn't about to put you at risk by being a bad shot. Everything I did was for you." He punctuates his sentence with a flirty little salute and smirk, and Steve looks right back at his lap again, appearing to bite the inside of his cheek. "And you couldn't bruise because—and this is just my assumption—the serum made your capillaries and skin stronger, so they couldn't take damage as easily. Bruises form when the capillaries are impaired, usually by impact, so the blood is stuck, trapped under your skin, forming a mark. Normally, nothing could hit you with enough force to do any of that, so you were safe."

 _Oh, so Steve wasn't exaggerating when he said that Barnes was brilliant,_ Sam thinks.

"Oh, and he couldn't throw it with any accuracy at first. First time he tried to hit a tree, he missed it by a mile and almost hit Dum-Dum instead."

"Shut up, Buck," Steve says with no real heat to the statement.

"Is he good with his shield now?" Bucky asks Sam, finally turning to face him.

He nods. "Sometimes, when people are firing on him, he'll hide his whole body behind the shield like a tiny turtle of freedom. He did that with a car door once, scooping Natasha and I up and bracing all of our bodies with the broken-off door."

"Buck, you saw me get better! We raided that one camp and I used it perfectly, remember?"

"I do," he says. Steve nods, pleased. "I also remember saving his ass from a shooter aiming at him from behind," he mutters under his breath to Sam, who grins.

"All part of befriending Captain America, isn't it?" He holds out his fist. Bucky stares at it, confused. "You make a fist and you bump it against mine. It's called a fist bump."

"What do people use it for?" Bucky asks, but obliges anyways.

"I dunno, just agreement. Like, if you agree with what I say, you can give me a fist bump. Or a high five."

"High five?"

"Palm out," Sam instructs. Bucky brings his hand up. Sam slaps it. "That's a high five."

"Just don't use these in formal or serious situations," Steve says. "These are just for fun."

"What else should I know about the modern day? Like, what'm I gonna do to catch up?"

"Well, we'll get back to DC, and you can stay with Steve and I–"

"Actually, Sam, I was really considering moving back to New York." Steve fidgets, hands in his lap, and he almost looks _scared_ , which is ridiculous. "I mean, I don't want to hurt your feelings or anything but–"

"I'm fine with whatever, man."

"Really?"

"I lived alone before, I can live alone now. Besides, we'll still call from time to time. And I'll visit."

"Wait, but I wanna go to the Captain America museum," Bucky protests. "Can we do that before leaving? Also, can I get a phone? And where are you gonna get the money from? And where are we gonna live in New York? Have you thought this through at all?"

"Jeez, Buck," Steve laughs. "They pay me to be Captain America."

"They do?" Sam and Bucky exclaim in unison.

"I took their experimental drug and fought their war, of course they owe me."

"I mean, you didn't have to take the drug," Sam points out. Bucky grins.

"This man is my soulmate," he sighs happily, not noticing the crisis it seems to set off in Steve. "Alright, and do I get a phone or not?"

Steve stares at him. Sam can practically _see_ the words getting stuck in his throat. "Yeah. Of course."

"You okay? You look kind of flushed," Bucky says. "I mean, if you don't have the money or anything–"

"No!" He seems to realize his voice is too loud and they're in an airport and there are _people around, goddammit_ , and instantly softens his tone. "No, don't worry. It, um. It isn't that."

"Are you sick?" He places one hand backwards on Steve's forehead and the other on his hand, then flips them, gauging his temperature. "I thought the serum meant you couldn't."

"I can't. I'm fine." He leans back in his chair, disguising his move away from Bucky as a swig from his cup. "We should move to Queens this time."

"What's wrong with Brooklyn?" Bucky asks incredulously.

"Nothing's wrong with it, per se, but it's…" He sighs, putting his face in his hands. "I just think that there'll be too many memories."

"Of course." Bucky's voice has gone soft and achingly gentle.

"They make it hard to distinguish Steve Rogers and Captain America," he continues. "I can't go back to where we met all the guys and they took us in 'cause they knew what it was like not to belong, and find it destroyed."

"Brooklyn's big, though," Sam says, making sure his voice doesn't sound probing or rude.

"We moved around a lot." He shrugs forcefully. "I just think Queens will be a new experience. Sort of."

"That sounds great, Stevie," Bucky says earnestly, fingers curled around his Frappucino. "I'll go wherever you go."

Well, at least Sam knows their wedding vows will be heart-achingly adorable and well-written.

"How about you guys stay with me for a few days when you get back?" he asks. "You can look up apartments in Queens, take virtual tours, and I can take Bucky shopping and to the museum."

"Why can't I take him shopping?" Steve protests. Sam eyes his clothing with distaste.

"Look in a mirror," he snarks, and Bucky cackles.

"Plus, wouldn't it be weird to take Captain America to the Captain America museum?" Bucky points out.

"I've been there before!"

"By that logic, I shouldn't take you, either," Sam laughs. "There's an exhibit about you, remember?"

"Oh, whatever," he waves him off. "Nobody'll care about me. I'm more of a side show."

"Buck," Steve says softly.

"Please don't start getting all mushy on me now," Sam cuts in before they start holding hands and gazing in each others' eyes.

"I don't get mushy," Bucky says indignantly. He dips his head and takes a long sip through his straw.

"I'll be with you 'til the end of the line," Steve mumbles, smiling victoriously when Bucky coughs on his drink.

"Huh?"

"It's nothing," Bucky claims, voice scratchy. "You're a real punk, know that, Steve?"

Steve smiles a broad, shit-eating grin.

Well, maybe this trip wasn't the worst decision Sam's ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean okay so steve grew up in the the great depression and fought in wwii and mr. whedon thinks he DOESN'T swear? okay ig  
> also you may have noticed i cropped some stuff out (aka deleted a chapter and merged it w another) bc i DESPISED ch1 before so like??? sorry????  
> take a shot every time sam says "man"  
> thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

"This is amazing."

Bucky's not sure how many times he's said those three words in the past two days. He's also not sure how it's only been two days, because so much has happened, from getting Steve back (who Bucky would shrivel up and die without) to meeting Sam (who Bucky has decided is an absolute angel) to landing in the year 2014 where everything is strange and bright and fun.

"What is?"

They're standing in the doorway of Target, earning annoyed glances from customers who have to step around them, but Bucky's never seen a shop that's so _big._

"It's huge!" He steps forward and spins around, taking in the giant red ceilings and hanging cardboard cutouts and rows and rows of shelves. "This is crazy!"

"What were shops like in your day?" Sam asks, nudging his arm, motioning for him to follow him. Bucky obliges.

"The nicer department stores used to sell the basics, like coats and utility clothing, or you could buy fabric on the streets and go to a tailor to stitch it into whatever you need. They didn't have clothes and food in the same place, though," he explains, nodding to the grocery section of the store as they rush past it. "The Depression started when I was sixteen, and at first, people bought a lot of stuff to try to save the failing economy, but eventually, there wasn't enough money to go around, so we used to reuse everything. I remember Ma used to make dresses for my sisters out of flour sacks when they wore through their old ones. Then, during the war, you had to carry around your ration cards when you went shopping. You couldn't get whatever you wanted then, 'cause so many people wanted them and they needed to send them over to the troops."

"You can have whatever you want," Sam promises, and with that, they're taking another turn in the endless maze of aisles and arriving in the mens' clothing area, and Bucky's about to protest, but there's so much _stuff_ arranged neatly on display and the words seem to evaporate.

"I…" He looks around, wildly lost again, at the comfy v-neck shirts and sweatpants and the jeans hanging on hooks on the walls in myriads of colors and sizes. "I don't know how much of each thing I need or what's fashionable."

"That's why I'm here! See, I made a list." He holds out a slip of paper, too fast for Bucky to really read anything, before turning it around and rattling off everything himself. "Target has really comfy and cheap shirts, so we're gonna snag whichever ones you like, one sweatshirt because it'll get hot soon and you can steal Steve's if you ever need any, two pairs of sweats, two pairs of jeans, two pairs of shorts, and their 10-packs of undies and socks."

"Only two pairs of jeans?"

"I'm strategizing. We'll buy you two pairs from here, because they're functional and pretty good for their price, and then we'll get the good shit from American Eagle after this."

"They named a shop after a patriotic bird?"

"Just look for clothes, Barnes."

The next few hours fly by in a rush of collecting individual pieces and putting them together into outfits, Sam coaching Bucky through pairing colors and what looks good on what, discussing which trends will pass and which items are, as he puts them, "wardrobe staples" for the years to come. There's one point at which Bucky shyly holds up a blue shirt covered in big pink flowers, expecting to be shot down for it being too "girly", but Sam simply nods contemplatively and gently suggests they look for a nicer one in a different store, let's just look for the essentials here, okay?

They eventually build up a formidable (read: alarming) heap of clothing, which Sam then dumps in a tiny stall he calls the "changing room" and tells Bucky to demonstrate every single outfit they've put together and _hurry up, you're only supposed to take five things in at a time_. That takes around an additional hour, full of one-armed dressing struggles and Sam running back into the main store area to get the right size and hanging what they don't like back on the shelves. By the end of their Target run, they've got five "graphic" tees, ten solid t-shirts (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, black, white, grey), a pair of faded blue jeans, a pair of plain dark jeans, a giant oversized "WWII Veteran" sweatshirt (Sam cackled for five minutes straight when Bucky dug it out of the clearance bin), a comfy plain gray hoodie, a pair of khaki shorts and a pair of black booty shorts (recalling the humidity of New York nights convinced him more than Sam's arguments about "showing off that ass"), gray sweats, a cool black belt, and undergarments.

"Are you sure you can pay for all this?" Bucky asks, over and over at self-checkout, and Sam simply chuckles every time. He tries to pry a few of the shirts out of Sam's hands ("I don't need all of these, Wilson"), to which he earns a playful slap to the back of his head and still no response to his words.

Sam plays rock in the car between stores, tells Bucky it's his favorite genre. He names the artist and the decade of every song, explains what makes them special, even explains the background story sometimes, and Bucky's glad to simply sit back and listen and learn, absorb all the information and soak up the melodies and make a mental note to listen to more of the Arctic Monkeys later. He catches snippets of guitars and crashing drums and loud singing between American Eagle and Sears and Walmart (which feels like a fever dream, especially when he sees two people wearing horse head masks clutching cans of corn in the ice cream aisle) and remembers why he's always loved music, remembers how it makes him feel alive.

"I didn't grow up with everything I wanted. Definitely not pretty things. I split them with my sisters and with Steve, 'cause he's always been around, and it's not like we were particularly rich. At some point you get used to it."

They're sitting in his car, in the half-dark half-light of the sunset and the streetlamps slowly being flickered on, and it's a strangely intimate moment for two people who've known each other for two days to have, certainly too intimate for _Friday I'm in Love_ as the background music, but maybe it's the weird mishmash that makes Bucky randomly confessing a thought he's been nursing all day seem completely normal.

"I want you to have pretty things," Sam says earnestly, like he's scared Bucky doesn't believe him. "Steve does, too. Whatever you want. God knows we've got too much stuff, anyways. And knowing you, and the way you grew up, you'll make sure you wear all the stuff we bought today until they're threadbare and every penny seems well-spent. That's fine, too, and we won't stop you, but you need to realize that it isn't really a waste if you aren't wearing rice-sack shirts anymore."

Bucky toys with the handles of the giant reusable bag Sam insisted on bringing instead of using the bags made of thin plastic, full to bursting with everything they bought today, and nods. "Sure."

"Good."

"Good."

"Guys, are you coming in or not?" Steve yells from the front door, the pale porch lighting casting dramatic shadows across his face, highlighting every muscle under the tee, making the seams of his shirt seem as if they're about to pop right open.

"Seems like he's into wearing his shirts until they're about to fall off," Bucky says, rather of voicing his actual thoughts which run more along the lines of _I am also into him wearing his shirts until they fall off_ as he swings the passenger door open.

"He's doing a great good to this world," Sam tosses back as he steps out of the car, and they both share a little smile (and it's a relief that the thought of _SteveandSam_ doesn't make Bucky's stomach crawl the way _PeggyandSteve_ did, because they're friends, the same way Bucky and Steve are) as they walk up to the door.

"What were you talking about?" Steve questions at the door, grabbing Bucky's bag like the gentleman he is, and leading them inside and setting it on the kitchen counter.

"Nothing," they chorus. Bucky holds his palm out. Sam slaps it. Steve turns around questioningly. They hide their hands behind their backs.

"Did you have fun?" He cuts a strangely maternal figure as he bustles into the kitchen and stirs whatever's in the pot (which must be a new development, because he refused to learn how to cook when they were younger, too busy fixing everything wrong with America to learn anything useful), and Bucky is suddenly back in the tiny Brooklyn apartment he half-grew up in, lingering at the kitchen where Sarah Rogers is making them sandwiches and asking how their days went. Steve looks like her, too, with the same golden-brown hair and clear blue eyes and strong nose, even with the bulky frame that she never possessed.

"Of course we did. I showed your best friend a wonderful time." Steve spins around, eyes narrowing at Sam. "I'm kidding! I showed him the wonderful world of fashion and the magic of Target and not much else."

"I'm glad we didn't take you," Bucky adds, sliding into a barstool at the elevated counter, and Steve pauses in his rapid movements at the chopping board to hold up his middle finger in response.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" Sam asks.

"Museum!"

"He's been in DC for one day and he's already getting ready to hit up all the historical attractions," Steve says disbelievingly.

"I _am_ a historical attraction," Bucky remarks. "Have you found an apartment you like?"

"I did, actually. I contacted the owner and they said we could come take a look at it this Sunday."

"Okay, well, tomorrow's Friday, so we'll go to the museum, leaving the afternoon to pack or whatever, drive up on Saturday, crash in a motel, and then visit and hopefully snag the apartment on Sunday. How's that sound?"

"Perfect. Should I start looking at furniture listings on Craigslist?"

"What's that?"

"Oh, we need to show you the Internet," Sam pipes up.

"What's that?"

Yeah, he's said _those_ words a lot in the past few days, too.

"Wait here." He jumps off his chair and runs off, presumably to his room, leaving Bucky and Steve alone in the kitchen with only the faint sound of sizzling and the knife rhythmically hitting the chopping board.

"When'd you learn to do that?"

"Hmm?"

"Cook. When'd you learn to cook?"

"Sam taught me after our mission. Said it helped get his mind off things, and that it'd help me, too."

"He did?"

"Yeah. I—we—just got the information that Fury found someone in the Alps, and I was going crazy because I knew it was you, but they couldn't send us right away because you were still frozen, so Sam helped me get through it."

Bucky looks down, pokes at the counter with his finger. "He's a good friend."

"He is."

There's another silence. Bucky isn't used to this.

"I blamed myself."

Bucky's gaze snaps right back up, watches Steve's face as it stares down at his knife.

"You shouldn't have."

The corner of Steve's mouth quirks up quickly before falling back down.

"But I just thought, every day since that day, _what would have happened if I caught you?_ I didn't keep you safe, which was—is—one of the most important things in the world to me, and—"

Bucky puts his hand on his arm, leaning uncomfortably over the counter to do so, but it makes him shut up.

"No harm, no foul."

"You lost an arm, Buck!"

"But it all worked out, didn't it? I'm here, and you're here, and we're going to live together just like we used to. It's all good."

Steve goes quiet.

"I thought, when I was crashing the ship, that I'd finally get to see you again."

Bucky glances from side to side with a _did he really just say that_ face before realizing nobody's there to confirm. "What?"

"I mean, I was talking to Peggy on the radio, and we were planning a date, but there was no way I'd get out of there," he explains, and some sort of pleasure at being chosen over the perfect Agent Carter simmers in his stomach, guilt unable to wash the feeling away. "So I thought, _it's alright, I'll meet Bucky up in heaven, and everything will be okay_. I really thought that. I didn't _have_ to crash, not really, but I just." He rubs his face, still staring down. He hasn't looked up. "When I thought you had died, I tried to get drunk. I couldn't. The serum enhanced my metabolism, which meant I burned through the booze before it could have any effect on me. I thought dying meant that we'd be together again, you know? And being with you seemed better than being without you, even if it narrowed my options down to life or death."

He can't say anything serious to that, not without Steve realizing he's in love with him. If Bucky's being honest, it's a miracle the idiot hasn't figured it out already, but he supposes that's just one of Steve's many quirks.

(Bucky doesn't want to know what would happen if Steve ever found out it were possible. Sam, the ever-observant saint, has been kind enough not to point it out.)

"No way I'd be in heaven, punk," he says instead, because humor is the best diversionary tactic in the history of diversionary tactics. "I'd be burning in hell, and you'd be, too."

Steve laughs, the full-out belly-bray that used to leave him gasping for breath but now just make him lean back, gripping the counter for support, eyes squeezed shut. Bucky smiles as he watches him, a private grin he reserves for the moments when nobody's looking and he can be as in love as he wants, and snaps a little mental picture, labelling it in his head like he's writing a caption on a Polaroid picture (Sam's got an album full of them, which he knows because he flipped through it with Bucky earlier today). _Steve when I tell him he's going to hell. April 28, 2014._

"You—" he wheezes, and it sets off a sort of panic in Bucky's stomach even though his brain has already acknowledged that Steve isn't in danger, because it's burned into his muscle memory to reach for the emergency inhaler he always keeps on his person and coax Steve though drawing air into his ratty lungs, but now, Steve simply takes a deep breath and calms down, smoothing away all his giggles, and Bucky isn't edgy with worry anymore, but then he looks up and his eyes are so intense the nervousness comes right back. "Nowhere'd be hell if you were there."

"Shut _up_ ," Bucky groans. "Disgusting mushy sap."

" _Your_ disgusting mushy sap," he corrects, and Bucky's eye twitches because _system error, could not process platonic affection_ , and Steve, with his ever-perfect eyesight, notices. "You alright? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, no, no, no, it's fine," tumbles out of Bucky's mouth with a quick and awkward nod, and he draws a sharp breath in, and then— "Is something burning?"

They should call him the King of Avoiding Serious Conversations about Your Feelings with the Best Friend You're in Love With but Talking to Him About His Feelings All the Time. He's got it down to a science.

" _Fuck,_ " Steve exhales, turning around rushing over to the stove, snapping the heat off, and stirring whatever's on it around, jumping when an oil splat jumps out and hits his hand. "Fuck."

"You alright?" There's a teasing lilt to his tone, one he doesn't hide even when Steve glances over his shoulder with his eyes narrowed. "You don't look too relaxed right now, bud."

"My onions burned!" he exclaims, pushing them back and forth with his spatula frustratedly as if he's a contestant on Iron Chef (Sam put it on this morning) and not cooking dinner for three.

"Don't worry too much about it," Sam advises, finally walking back into the kitchen-dining area with his open laptop clutched in his hands. "Toss the garlic in, then cook whatever you need to cook—I'm assuming meat?" Steve nods. "Cook your meat, add your spices, act like they didn't burn. It's fine."

"You sure?" he asks as if to confirm, but he's already turning the knobs back around before Sam responds.

"Of course I'm sure. You love every dinner I cook you."

Steve nods, grabbing the chopping board and scraping the garlic off with studious focus. Bucky thinks he could watch him clutter around the kitchen forever, all awkward angles and craning his neck to study everything in Sam's spice cabinet and too-big limbs in a too-small space, but Sam nudges him in the side where he's settled next to Sam, jerking his head towards his laptop, which is open to a page reading "Google" with a bar and eight little rectangles underneath.

"This is called a website," Sam explains. "Every tab I open—" and he slides his fingers across a pad on the laptop, and a little slanted white arrow on the screen moves, and then he clicks a little plus sign, and another identical page opens "—can have a different website on it. Google is a search site. This system is called a browser."

Sam keeps playing with the page, then pushing it over to Bucky, who painstakingly types out "Captain America" with his pointer finger (he was right-handed before he fell on his dominant hand and had to get it amputated, and he's also never used a keyboard before), letter-by-letter, in the search browser, and clicks the "Enter" key like he's seen Sam do.

_All. Images. News. Videos. Shopping. More. Captain America saves victims from rubble blast. Captain America and Black Widow? Captain America has a New Friend, And We Want to Know More. Buy Captain America Toys Here! Ad. Everything You Need to Know About Captain America._

There are pictures of Steve in his outfit over towards the right, organized into a little information panel, and news articles in little blocks on the left, right under the search bar.

"You can find information this easily?" Bucky asks. Sam nods.

"Google draws on lots of other sources to give you what you need when you search stuff up."

"What're other important websites I need to know about?"

"There's YouTube, which is a video site, and Wikipedia, which is an online encyclopedia that has information about basically everything. Other than that, people use social media, which is mostly just for sharing pictures and chatting online."

"And will I get a laptop?"

"I dunno." Sam pulls a rectangular white box out of nowhere. "But I hope this works fine."

Bucky grabs it greedily, grin spreading across his face as he studies the phone art on the top and the words "iPhone 5S" lining the side, before gripping the box between his thighs and pulling the lid off (which takes a while, having only one arm really has its disadvantages) and lifting the new device reverently in his hand before glancing up.

"Steve, look!" He holds the phone out to his best friend, who's leaning against the opposite wall and watching him. His arms are crossed again. Bucky's mouth goes a little dry.

"I see it," he says with a little smile on his face, and Bucky is so gone over the way his eyes twinkle when he's happy, feels like he's twelve years old and staring at a tiny Steve sitting in the schoolyard in front of him, tongue poked out in concentration as he draws the butterfly perched on Bucky's finger, absentmindedly admiring how beautiful he is without realizing that he's in too deep. He suddenly feels the butterfly, and all its siblings and cousins and friends, stir in its stomach after being asleep for seventy years, unfrozen by Steve's warm grin.

Maybe he _does_ do mushy.

"You gonna set it up?" Sam probes from the side, and Bucky briefly thanks God for his existence (which is saying a lot because Bucky's not a huge fan of the big guy in the sky) before nodding.

"Do they have options to make it easier on people with one hand?"

"I made sure I got the one with touch ID, so you can set up a fingerprint and you don't have to type in the password every time," Sam offers. "Want me to help set it up?"

"Isn't that the reason you're here?" he teases.

"Excuse me, my life does not rotate around the two of you," Sam declares indignantly. "You're lucky I'm gracing you with my presence."

"Yes, we are," Steve agrees.

"Please help me," Bucky adds, grinning when Sam grabs his phone and clicks around, muttering "ungrateful old men" under his breath all the while, the curl of his mouth suggesting he really doesn't mind at all.

(Dinner ends up being perfect, and "good cook" ends up the millionth in an endless list of reasons of why Bucky Barnes is in love with his best friend.)

xxx

"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country."

"Well, they've got to update that information," Bucky mutters to Sam. They have, in fact, been getting lots of shocked looks from over where they're standing at the giant glass plaque with his face emblazoned on it from people who realize that they're the same person; for the past three hours at the museum (Lord knows how Sam has stuck by Bucky this long) they've been dodging inquisitive strangers left and right, some approaching with an "oh my God, you're the Falcon" (which Bucky needs to ask about) and/or "I thought you were dead?" (which really isn't the greatest conversation starter).

"How're you gonna make it official to the world?" Sam shoots back.

"I'll get Steve to tag me on his Instagram and watch people freak out," he shrugs.

Sam smiles reverently. "I have taught you well."

"Anyways, that outfit is exactly like the one I came out of the ice in," he says, staring at the mannequin of his body with the rest of the Commandos. "Wait, let's go closer, I want to point out everything they got wrong."

Bucky gives it a once-over, Sam standing right by his side with an amused smile, and has to admit that, at the first glance, it's identical. He grabs the sleeve, inspecting the material inside, and finds that it's some sort of modern plastic-fabric meld that he's never seen before. He counts the pockets on his trousers and studies the boots, both of which are just like the ones they presented him with when he was unfrozen. He then glances at the left sleeve, just to check if…

Oh.

"Anything wrong with it?"

"Um." Bucky turns to him. "Just the materials, but considering they didn't have the original to study, it's scary accurate."

He squints, stares at Bucky for a few seconds before relaxing his face. "Bullshit."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. What'd they miss?"

Bucky sighs. Of all the men in the world, why did Steve have to choose the ever-perceptive therapist Sam Wilson? "There's a little wing patch. Silver. It's supposed to be on my left sleeve."

"And why wouldn't you—oh." Sam sees it too, a silver wing on the left side of Steve's helmet, and presses his lips together.

He knows too much. He knows he does.

"It's like carrying a bit of him with me wherever I go, I guess," Bucky admits quietly, staring at a little screen displaying a short video of Bucky and Steve laughing together. "I guess I don't really need to, but you never know what happens, right?"

"Who gave you the patch?"

"He did. He was all, 'they've started selling Captain America merchandise', and I said 'we're at war, there are better ways to use the materials', and he just handed it over like he knew I'd keep it forever anyways."

"They didn't sell anything like that in the stores, Barnes."

"Oh."

"They had trading cards and figurines, but most of the Cap merch was for kids. Even now, really. They've never sold anything like that."

"Guess I'm special, then."

"You are to him."

"Excuse you, I'm very special to the rest of the world," he says snootily, feeling childish as a blush rises to his face. "Do you have a plaque in the Smithsonian? You don't. Know who does? Me."

They sweep into a side theater to watch the "feature film" next, and Bucky gets choked up as soon as he sees Peggy, which Sam thankfully does not comment on. She talks about Steve's heroics, before and after the serum, and mentions a husband, and Bucky's ridiculously happy for her for building a life of her own. He's not sure he could ever live without Steve. He's lucky he doesn't have to.

"Did you know," Bucky whispers after a shot of him practicing his shots has been cut in the midst of interview sections talking about how wonderful of a sniper he was, "that one time, when I shot someone out of his line of sight, that he turned around and _saluted_ me?"

Sam snickers. "He just gave away your location like that?"

"It's pretty stupid, even for a guy who hasn't fought before."

"He jumps out of airplanes without parachutes sometimes."

"I'm unsurprised."

"And mad."

"That, too."

The music soars, the video fades off the screen, and the credits start to roll. Bucky's perfectly happy to sit and watch, but Sam grabs his arm and hauls him up.

"What're you doing?" he whines.

"What're _you_ doing?" Sam retorts. "The movie's over, we're leaving."

"Oh."

Bucky grabs Sam's bicep to pull himself up, and _wow,_ his arm is muscular.

"Thank you." It takes a second to register that Bucky just said that aloud, and then another to realize that Sam really doesn't seem to mind. "I have to work hard for it."

"I need to make sure our apartment is near a gym," Bucky says. "Gotta make sure I'm still strong enough to drag Steve away from fights."

"I'm not sure any gym would help you do that." They're momentarily pushed into the crowd walking out of the theater, then dispersed into the larger museum area, still walking out.

"I've got my ways, pal," he shoots back with an impish grin.

"Oh, yeah?" Bucky likes that Sam always keeps up with his banter like Steve does. Birds of a feather flock together, he supposes. "And what're those?"

"Well, for one," he starts, lowering his voice and leaning closer to him conspiratorially as if he's about to reveal some great big secret, "he's ticklish."

"Even after the serum?" Sam questions, face lit up.

"Even after the serum," Bucky confirms, pushing the front doors of the museum open, letting Sam walk out first before catching up to him. "You also have to a develop a firm _No, Steve_ face that you plaster on whenever he's doing something you don't like."

"That's where our roads diverge, man. I don't know how to say no to him."

"You'll learn someday." He claps his hand over his friend's shoulder, eyes snagging on the car sitting in the middle of the parking lot. "Alright, let's get this bread!"

"I wish I never taught you what Urban Dictionary was," Sam mutters under his breath, and Bucky chuckles as he starts walking.

"Did I use it right, at least?"

"No."

"Damn it."

They walk in silence the rest of the way, until something seems to dawn on Sam.

"You guys use cameras a lot back in the day?" Sam questions as they get into the car. It's around four in the afternoon, the sky's cloudy and white, and Bucky's itching to curl up on Sam's illegally comfy couch and watch movies until he's drowsy.

"Not really. Film and equipment was expensive, you couldn't see your picture until it was developed, and Steve drew well enough, anyways."

"So the movie…?"

"They wanted to remember what their war monkey did."

"Was it worth it?"

"It educated future generations, and I'm sure some of the footage went into deeply researched documentaries about the war, too, and not just this Captain America commercial crap, so I'd say yes."

A pause. "Steve told me you used to write."

"What about it?"

"He droned on and on about some journal you never let him read. I tuned out."

"Why?"

"Man, it'd been a long day. I was tired."

"He was telling you stories about me the whole time, wasn't he?"

"That a thing he does a lot?"

"We do it for each other without really realizing it. The Commandos made fun of us constantly, saying we talked about the other like they were a dame we left back home. Unfortunately—" _Steve wasn't my dame_ crosses his mind fleetingly, mournfully "—Steve didn't stay home."

Either works.

"The entire time we were traveling," Sam groans, oblivious to Bucky's inner turmoil for once. "He talked about you nonstop."

Bucky's lying if he says that doesn't make him feel sort of warm and fuzzy inside.

"Is he as good with technology as you are?"

"I think so. He learned everything he could when he came into this century, so he might even know more random stuff than I do, just because he wasn't sure what was the regular pop culture that adults knew. He's got a list, in this little book he carries with him, and he goes through it. Maybe you guys can check off a few items together."

"I need a new journal. Not just for a catch-up list, but for regular journal-writing purposes, too."

"So you used to write a daily log, then?"

"I'll never tell you."

Sam leans forward and presses a little button that says "FM". A perky lady finishes up a sentence, then a song drifts through the speakers.

"Radio." Bucky smiles. "We used to pile up in the living room, Steve and Becca and I with our homework, the younger girls with their board games, and the moms with their sewing, and listen to whatever was on. News, fireside chats, radio shows. We listened to them all."

"Did your journal have something to do with your homework?"

"Perhaps."

"Was it a personal thing?"

"Maybe."

"Was it a place to put your biggest secrets and lock them up?"

Bucky hesitates. Sam grins.

"It was."

"You don't know that."

"And I'm guessing this was lost when you fell?"

"Nope."

"No? How?"

"Not gonna tell you."

"I already know what's in the book—"

"No, you don't, not for sure—"

"—so you might as well tell me where it is."

"That's stupid."

"It's worth a try."

"You'll have to try harder, I had to suffer Steve Rogers asking for thirty years straight."

"Oh, my god, we're so old."

"Speak for yourself."

"Says the guy who is _literally_ straight out of the 40s!"

"Watch me adjust to this century better than you."

"How?"

"Well, I'm going to convince Steve to pull strings with one of his nerd friends and get a metal arm, so I'm going to be part-robot, which would make me a cyborg."

Sam snorts.

"What?" Bucky asks.

"Nothing." He looks over from the steering wheel. "You two will get along just fine."

"Who? Steve and I? We already get along well."

Sam drums his fingers on the steering wheel, aggravatingly casual as the song fades out and the next one starts.

"Wait and see."

"Oh, I get it." Sam glances over with a sly grin. "You're getting revenge on me for being mysterious about my journal."

"I learned my pettiness from Steve."

"You did _not_ , you asshole," Bucky chuckles. "I'm betting you've been salty all your life."

"My best friend used to call me out on it, too."

"Used to?"

"Died in a rescue op."

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't want to stay after that, so I left. I work down at the local VA. Help whoever I can."

"That's great, man." Bucky presses his lips in a flat line. "I didn't want to fight in the first place. I was drafted."

Sam turns his face to him, a question in his eyes. "But the board said you enlisted."

"My serial number was 32557038. First number's a three. Means I was drafted. They got my birth year wrong, too."

"They got your birth year wrong?"

"1917."

"What the fuck."

"I know."

"So you've never liked fighting?"

"Not any more than I've liked seeing my best friend beaten up and blood because of it."

"He fought enough for the two of you."

"And more, to be completely honest." He lets out a bitter laugh. "I had to act excited when I got my orders, 'cause Steve'd be all upset and jealous if I wasn't, but I was really scared of leaving my family and him alone."

Sam nods. It's nice, having a friend who a) is alive and b) Bucky isn't head-over-heels in love with.

"Hey, so what's this I hear about you being a bird?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoever left kudos and comments on the last chapter—THANK YOU, YOU MADE MY WEEK, I LOVE YOU  
> thanks for reading!! sorry for the slow updates/shitty chapter i can't write but i do love my boys (also HELP idk how to make the texts all italics i’m a mess)


	3. Chapter 3

"—so they stopped me at the door and were all, 'oh my god, you're in this museum!' and I was like 'yeah, that's kind of why I'm here' and it held up the line, obviously, but then more people saw Sam and I and got excited and started swarming us with their phones. I don't know how you guys go anywhere in public."

It's been approximately two hours on the road since Steve and Bucky left Sam's house armed with two duffel bags of stuff (Steve was on the run from the government when he bunked down with Sam and most of Bucky's possessions are the ones he's bought in the past three days) and the entirety of the Arctic Monkeys' musical career has been playing on shuffle from Bucky's phone the whole time while Google Maps is on display on Steve's phone, tucked into the GPS mount Sam tossed them at the last minute. They wore out the first ten minutes of the drive by debating whether or not simply clicking "shuffle play" on an artist's discography is the proper way to understand their music. Clearly, Bucky didn't pay attention to any of Steve's arguments, which is why Still Take You Home came on right after 505 and Bucky pretended he didn't choke on the drive-through mocha he insisted on ordering ("don't rob me of these unique experiences, Stevie!") when the beat dropped.

"Weren't you wearing your hat and jacket?"

"You do realize people can still tell who you are under the hat and jacket, right? I swear to God, it's a genuine shock you're even alive today, you little punk. Like, I'm betting you're the kind of superhero that lets all the bad guys do their evil monologues before attacking them."

"…"

"Well, are you?"

"It's for dramatic effect, you jerk!"

He throws his head back and _cackles_ , and Steve's feeling his body do the dumb thing where he starts sweating a little more and his heart skips a beat. It used to make sense, before the serum, because he had faulty organs and brittle bones, because the heat rush could be an oncoming fever and the thumping in his chest cardiac issues, but it just doesn't add up now.

_Merge onto I-95 North._

Steve swerves, which makes Bucky screech like a banshee and grab at his bicep for balance.

"Your arm is just as strong as Sam's," he muses.

"Why do you know how muscular Sam's arm is?" Steve questions. He's pretty sure it's a thing for their entire friend group to flirt with each other.

Aggressively.

Bucky smirks and leans back in his seat in reply, letting go of him, which is a shame, because Steve kind of liked his hand there.

"Alright then," he says, and he's pretty sure he sounds as strangled as he feels, but Bucky'll blame it on thirst or confusion. "Very cool."

"What's the neighborhood like?"

"Huh?"

"The place where our new apartment is, punk. Pay attention."

"It's pretty regular. Welcoming." He very specifically does not mention that when he contacted the landlord in an email and said he was moving in with another man, they reassured him that _we accept anyone and everyone who lives here, don't worry_ and Steve didn't confirm or deny anything. "Lots of little shops and restaurants. There's a library around the corner. A gym right across the street, I think."

"Oh, good! I was telling Sam that I needed a gym near our place, 'cause I need to be able to drag your ass away from fights."

 _Take my ass anywhere,_ he thinks, and immediately clears it out with a _what the fuck?_

"I'd like to see you try."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Are you going to take it as one?"

"Of course I am! I'm going to be _ripped_ by the time summer ends, watch me."

"No serum?"

"I'm not a punk like you, I'll just use a diet and a strict gym regimen."

Steve throws a dubious look at his mocha.

"I guess it's a cheat day?" Bucky says, taking a swig, eyebrows scrunched together in artificial guilt.

"I wouldn't know. My metabolism's so fast that I burn through what I eat four times faster than the average person."

"You must spend most of your paycheck on food, then."

"I make too much money for that." He mimes flipping hair over his shoulders. Bucky snorts.

"I think I'll get a job when we get there," Bucky admits. "I mean, I know we don't need me to like we used to, but I just."

"That sounds awesome, Buck," he reassures. "What're you thinking of doing?"

"Maybe at a library? Or volunteer at the schools? Anything with learning. And kids. God, I miss the girls."

"As in your sisters or the dames? Because women haven't died between 1943 and today—"

Bucky punches his arm playfully. "Shut up, punk. If I wanted a dame, I'd have a dame."

"No, you wouldn't." Steve rolls his eyes. "You were in a foreign town for _two days_ and barely knew anyone."

"Okay, and?"

"You seriously think you could?"

"Pal, I _know_ I could. This hair is irresistible."

"You sure about that?" he mutters under his breath as the final chorus of One for the Road swells to a climax and the GPS instructs him to merge, barely resisting the urge to pull the wheel just a little too hard so Bucky, currently running his fingers through his hair, leans into him again. That'd be hilarious.

"Hm?"

"I said your hair needs a trim if you want it to hit the 'irresistible' level."

"It's all part of the bad-boy look, Stevie, keep up with the times. All the ladies love a bad boy."

"You go to museums for fun. That isn't exactly my definition of a 'bad boy', or anyone else's, for that matter."

"I guess you'd know, Mr. I-Lie-On-Government-Forms-to-Get-What-I-Want."

"That was _one time_ —"

"Five exams in five cities!"

"Okay, but it was concentrated into one section of my life, so technically only one time, right?"

"That's not how it works _at all_ , oh my God, and besides, who used to stand up to the teachers when they were being bigoted assholes and then telling them _to their faces_ that you hoped the principal would have 'more of a sense of justice' than they did when you got in trouble?"

"That was me. So, by your logic, wouldn't I be the bad boy?"

Bucky tilts his head up, draining his cup, before tossing it aside with a grimace.

"Yeah, well, who got more girls?"

"Jerk."

"Punk."

Steve hasn't told him that the meaning of "punk" has changed since he came out of the ice. He isn't planning on telling him anytime soon, either, because the modern-day equivalent would probably be "twink" and he really doesn't need Bucky to call him that in public.

"Anyways, as I was saying, it's weird to think Becca won't constantly be on my back like she used to."

"That's the bad part about coming out of the ice, I guess. Everything's different, and it's mostly good, but everyone we cared about is gone."

"Not everyone."

"I guess not."

"Did you talk to any of our future neighbors?"

"Huh?"

Steve's a senior citizen. He isn't equipped to handle 360-degree turns in conversation.

"Did you talk to any of our future neighbors?" His voice is slower now, exaggerated pauses between words, a smug smirk on his stupidly pretty face.

_God picks favorites._

"Bold of you to assume we'll like the apartment."

"Bold of you to assume we won't."

_Fair point._

"I mean, we've never been too picky, have we?"

"The Y was alright, Buck."

"No, that's not what I mean."

There's a pause. Steve remembers their little space in the residential hotel they stayed in soon after his mother died, with only one bedroom and a dingy kitchen connected by a puny living area; he remembers golden sunlight spilling through the windows onto the old couch they barely managed to cram into the living area, Bucky leafing through the paper and Steve sitting with his sketchpad spread across his thighs. He remembers the countless times people had mistaken the two for a couple because although the Young Men's Christian Association had hoped to reform gay behavior with their homes, they accidentally ended up doing the opposite.

Funny how that happens.

"Do they still have those kinds of places?" Bucky's voice has gone softer now, likely as lost in memory as Steve is, still pushing through the happier moments before the war swept along and ruined it all.

"They don't need them anymore."

Bucky's mouth quirks up at the side, and he looks _pleased_ , which is. Well. "It's too bad none of the guys stayed around to see it, isn't it?"

"Uh." _So he isn't straight. But he's not gay. Bisexual? Pansexual?_ "Yeah, it is."

He studies his face from the side. Steve hands start to feel sweaty on the steering wheel, slipping off slowly. He reaches for the AC knob. "Penny for your thoughts?" Bucky asks innocently.

Steve holds his palm out. "Better pay up, then."

Bucky closes his fingers, pushes the fist away with a chuckle. "You're real funny, Stevie."

He keeps his eyes fixed on the miles of road ahead, and they don't talk too much for the rest of the ride—Bucky pauses the music, places his phone on the dash, and puts on the pilot of Sherlock instead—but it's comfortable, almost like a new version of sketching and reading in solidary.

And, like a puzzle piece being fished out of the depths between the couch cushions of his misery, he realizes he doesn't miss the old days so much anymore.

xxx

It takes about a week to get their apartment together.

Bucky was right about them loving the place, a cozy little two-bedroom-one-bath where most of the people that live on their floor greet them and welcome them to the neighborhood and bring more cookies and casseroles than they can eat, and Steve is very glad he ordered that like-new $300 sprawling grey sectional off Craigslist when he had the opportunity because it's one less central piece of furniture he has to worry about. (God, he loves New Yorkers.)

They then go to IKEA for beds, kitchen essentials, decorations, etc. Bucky is more excited than one usually is about actually constructing the furniture, but then again, one usually does not inspect every last detail of every last showroom of the aforementioned store and then freak out over the food court the same way they freaked out their first time using an electric razor. Needless to say, when they drop into Pottery Barn and Pier One Imports later (recommended by none other than the wonderful Sam Wilson), Bucky's a little underwhelmed but still curious and all hands and eyes and questions.

It's the little things in life, he supposes.

Most of the rest of the week is spent building while blasting music, working through every room of the house, leaving carefully calculated spaces open for the knickknacks Sam and Natasha will definitely bring for the housewarming (Sam because he's polite and also everyone's mother, Nat because she is the definition of the simultaneously cool and dorky wine aunt), and collapsing in front of the TV on their Very Nice Adult Couch at the end of the day and giggling at the random late-night shows and HGTV reruns until they start to drift off.

"Steve?" Bucky asks one day when they're working on putting their final touches on the entire house like they're Joanna Gaines decorating her freshly renovated cottage-barnhouse in the middle of the Texas prairie, removing the dust jackets from the books they got for free from a lady lugging three bags full of them to Goodwill for donation because everybody knows dust covers are a bitch when it comes to making arrangements look nice on a shelf.

Again, Steve loves New Yorkers.

"Yeah?" Steve's over in the kitchen, but the open concept lets him see right over the kitchen counter where he's organizing all their pans into the living room where Bucky is. They're playing Lana Del Rey today. Bucky likes her a lot more than Steve thought he would.

"You date when I was gone?"

"Nope."

"Was your game off or something?"

"I've never _had_ game."

"Sure."

"Natasha kept trying to set me up, too. I just never was in the mood."

"You still got that compass?"

His face feels hot. "You've seen the compass?"

"You never made any attempts to hide it. Say, I bet they recorded us looking at a battle map someday, and your compass was sitting right in the middle of the shot."

"There's footage?"

Bucky stares, then shakes his head in disbelief, going right back to what he was doing. "I have no clue how you were functioning when I was gone."

_Yeah, nobody does._

"That's hurtful."

"I don't hear you denying it."

"Shut _up._ "

"Okay, but, back to Natasha."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't ask her out."

"I wasn't gonna."

Steve doesn't say _oh, really?_ but he's sure his expression does.

"Look, as much as I love ladies who can kick my ass without setting a single hair out of place, they usually end up liking you better if you date them first. Also, if she's anything like Peggy, she could probably destroy me with her left foot, so. And, well, I don't know. I'm not really in the dating sort of mood anyways."

He doesn't know what to say to that. _I'm sorry_? _Why not_?

"Nat and I never went out."

Now he's on the receiving end of a dubious look.

"Seriously. We're just friends. I respect her a lot, but that's all."

"So what's she like?"

"Well, like you said, she's pretty and intimidating, but she's really just soft on the inside. She's a good friend, too. Loyal if she likes you."

"Not the kind of person you'd want to be enemies with, then."

"What, are you planning on making her hate you?"

"Do you think she will?"

"Let's wait and see, shall we?"

Bucky looks nervous at that. Steve resists the urge to laugh.

"When's the housewarming?"

 _If living with Sam felt domestic, this feels like being married with a dog and a cat and "Live Love Laugh" decorations on the walls._ The thought makes his stomach turn.

"Friday."

"Who's coming?"

"Sam, Maria, Natasha, Clint."

"That's all?"

Steve shrugs. "I guess."

"You didn't make many friends when I was gone, did you?"

"I did!" He starts counting them off on his fingers. "There's Sam, Nat, Maria, Clint—"

"I know that. Give me new names."

"—Thor, Bruce, and Tony. Maybe. Not sure how friendly he and I are."

"That's…" Bucky stares at the seven fingers Steve's holding up.

"Oh! And Coulson. Wait, he's dead. Uh, Nick? Not really."

"…sad. That's really sad."

"Nat once said that if I wanted friends, I was in the wrong business."

"But you'll always have me."

"I guess I will, won't I?" He means for it to sound like a jab, but it comes out _way_ too affectionate, which happens a lot more than he'd care to admit.

It's almost jarring when they finally have to leave this little bubble of a world they've created for themselves full of lost nails and tuna noodle casseroles and singing along to The Strokes until their throats are sore and step back into their regular lives. Steve isn't used to interacting with any people besides Bucky, for starters, so it's strange for him when, only a few hours after Bucky puts down the final throw pillow and high-fives him for a job well done, they're sitting in Tony Stark's lab and the two brunettes are chatting amicably.

"I've always wanted to try building and programming a prosthetic arm," Tony muses as he adjusts a few things on the hologram in front of him with one hand, rifling through the materials on the table with the other. Bucky watches, enchanted, as he moves around different plates and temperature controls and whatnot.

"I mean, if you can build a robot arm, why not a human one?" he points out. Tony beams.

"Okay, do you want it to glow?"

"That sounds awesome, but I'm not sure how well that'd work in serious settings."

"Do you want it to look completely normal?"

Bucky ponders that. "No. I want it to be, like, something someone in the street would stop me for, and instead of doing the whole gushy 'you moved on with your life instead of letting your injury take it over', tell me I have a sick-ass arm."

"What do you want the shape to be like?"

"Huh?"

Tony flicks his wrist, pushing pictures of prosthetics towards Bucky, who taps and zooms in on them like a pro despite only being in the lab for about an hour.

"I want it to be shaped like my other arm, if you can do that. Almost like an imitation of my real arm, except there's something different about it. I don't know what."

"I definitely can. Hey, maybe Stark Industries should get into prosthetics!" Tony adjusts the design. "I'll talk to Pepper about it."

"You want glitter on it?"

"No."

"That's cold."

"I mean, I need people to take me at least _somewhat_ seriously, don't I?"

"What, and rainbow sparkles don't scream 'professionalism' to you?"

Steve sighs. They ignore him.

"And as for the size, I was hoping I wouldn't have to cut a sleeve off every shirt I wear."

"Of course. We'll fit it right to your other arm."

"What if my arm gets bigger?"

"Refitting. Easy." Tony shrugs like it's no big deal for him to reconstruct an arm for a human.

"Do you ever take a break from work?"

"I've learned to. I mean, it took threats from an internationally-feared terrorist and crash-landing in the middle of nowhere with my very worst suit, but it happened eventually, didn't it?"

They stare at him.

"Just to clarify: when you say 'suit', you do mean the cool Iron Man ones, right? Not, like, an Armani?"

"Indeed, Mr. Barnes. I've taken a bit of a break from them, though. They were my only outlet for copious amount of anxiety."

"Have you…" Steve starts.

"Started therapy? Yes, I have. What about it?"

"I just recognized the positive therapy-speak," he shrugs. "My friend Sam's a therapist. He's good with people."

Tony nods. "This all is touching, and I'd love to actually _meet_ Sam sometime, but can we get back to the fake limb I need to make by next Monday?"

"How about a metal arm?" Steve suggests half-sarcastically, already pulling out his phone to text Sam. Bucky and Tony look at each other. Something clicks.

"That's, like, the best idea you've ever had, Rogers, and you had the idea of team movie nights," Tony states, instantly dragging silver into the blueprint.

"Leave it plain, I don't want any designs on it," Bucky cuts in.

They continue to gush, tossing ideas back and forth, as Steve unlocks his phone.

_Me: Bucky's getting a metal arm_

_Sam: dude that's sick_

_Sam: ask him if it's worth falling off a train for_

_Me: Maybe later_

_Me: He's geeking out w Stark rn_

_Sam: yeah what'd u expect_

_Sam: can't say i didn't see it coming_

_Sam: nerds like nerds_

_Sam: or so i'd assume_

_Sam: i'm a cool kid so i wouldn't kno_

_Sam: i'm tryna say birds of a feather flock together_

_Me: I'm sure you'd know, bird-man_

_Sam: it's FALCON :(_

_Me: Okay but why not Eagle_

_Me: It's more patriotic, too_

_Sam: ur the patriotic 1 mr cap america_

_Me: Why is your texting style so inconsistent_

_Sam: bcos its texting and not classic literature_

_Sam: nobody gives a flying fuck_

_Me: Haha get it "flying"_

_Me: Bc we were talking about birds_

_Sam: ur a menace to society_

_Me: Fuck you, I'm a superhero_

_Sam: yeah so'm i and i don't make terrible puns_

_Me: Everyone else does_

_Me: You're just weird_

_Sam: what, just cuz everyone else does it it's weird that i don't???_

_Sam: i will not give in to peer pressure mr rogers_

_Me: Remember when you told Fury you did everything I did but slower?_

_Sam: that was abt saving lives_

_Me: What if you need to make a pun or you'll die?_

_Me: What then?_

_Sam: i'm great at thinking on the spot_

_Sam: also that would never happen so lmao we good_

_Sam: how do you think i became friends w the jackass who always ran ahead of me and flaunted it_

_Me: Patience_

_Sam: that too_

_Sam: actually mostly that_

_Sam: u and nat test my patience_

_Me: I love how everyone's all "oh, she's an international assassin!" but she's just a dork_

_Sam: it's better that way_

_Sam: like she wears skintight leather to keep her image but u KNO when u get home she's taking ur zeppelin shirt and fav sweats and never giving them back_

_Me: I wonder if this is how Barton has felt for all those years they've known each other_

_Sam: ofc it is_

_Sam: scary lady my ass_

_Me: She's still scary_

_Sam: not when she sends u obama memes at 1 am captioned "i wanna say i'm cackling but i really just exhaled loudly"_

_Me: "Lmao" is a lie that the internet has taught us to tell_

_Sam: u havent seen the right ones young one_

_Sam: u have much to learn_

_Me: Who are you calling young_

_Sam: o right forgot i was speaking to a senior citizen_

_Sam: sorry mr mothball_

_Sam: u dress like a grandpa sometimes_

_Sam: like a grandpa who's really into showing off his muscles, sure_

_Sam: but idk how else to explain the jumpers_

_Sam: *sweaters_

_Sam: i've been watching too much sherlock lately_

_Me: So has Bucky_

_Me: I think he's been trying to deduce me at random times around the house_

_Me: Like he'll run his fingers along my "jumpers" or stare at my face for a long time_

_Sam: what has he deduced_

_Me: Idk_

_Me: Probably nothing_

_Me: We spend all day together, he knows everything already_

_Me: Oh don't forget_

_Me: Housewarming Friday_

_Sam: lit_

_Sam: i'll bring brownies from that shop around the corner_

_Me: Please do_

_Me: Bucky will love you forever_

_Sam: barnes loves me anyways_

_Me: You bought him clothes and introduced him to YouTube, of course he does_

_Me: Also you're you_

_Me: Very charming_

_Me: Very sneaky_

_Me: Speaking of charming, Maria?_

_Sam: i will kill you_

_Me: She's going to be at the housewarming_

_Sam: what_

_Sam: shit_

_Sam: now i have to wear something nice_

_Me: Were you not going to anyways?_

_Sam: i was undecided_

_Sam: key word WAS_

_Me: Lmao_

_Sam: tis not funny steven_

_Sam: gotta dress to impress_

_Me: Don't worry_

_Me: You'll impress anyways_

_Sam: u only say that bc ur nice_

_Sam: nat better not embarrass me in front of her_

_Me: You're like a middle schooler with a crush_

_Sam: shut up i really like her_

_Sam: yo btw how's barnes gonna use a fake arm like it's real_

Steve looks up. "How's Bucky going to learn to use a fake arm like it's real?" he asks Tony.

"I've got contacts." When Steve gives him an apprehensive look, he sighs. "I'll ask Bruce and Dr. Helen Cho. I mean, people usually talk about Bruce's work in biochemistry and nuclear physics, but he's got eight PhDs, so he probably knows at least a little bit about this... stuff. I don't. I'm a machine kind of guy. Can I take your measurements now?"

"Go ahead." As soon as Tony gets close, Bucky winks. "Get frisky with it."

Tony stops, very suddenly, and roars with laughter. When he finally calms down, there are tears in his eyes.

"You are my people," he says. "Steve, please bring him as your plus one to every Stark Tower event."

"I'm offended," Bucky snarks. "Why don't I have my own invitation?"

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"You're an idiot sometimes," Steve says, a private smile on his own face. It's endearing, really, to watch them interact, to watch someone he wasn't sure he liked get along with the person he loves most in the world.

Maybe he should ask Tony out to lunch sometime.

"Hey, don't say that to the guy—" Tony gestures to the diagram floating behind him "—who's making the arm."

"The arms dealer," Bucky mutters, and they all chuckle.

"Alright, I'm really going to measure you now," Tony announces, then steps forward and wraps the measuring tape around his bicep, and calls out the number to Jarvis.

"Sir, with all due respect, could you not just scan his arm?" Bucky nearly had a heart attack when Jarvis had first responded to one of Tony's prompts, but it soon melted into wonder and about fifty questions, all of which Tony happily answered.

"You can _scan_ his _arm_?" Steve asks in disbelief.

"Don't worry, Rogers," he says, waving a robot over from the other side of the lab. "I forgot that I could, too."

The bot rolls to a stop, then beams out a bright blue laser that travels all the way down Bucky's outstretched arm. It beeps, rolls to the diagram hologram, and spits the scan out.

"I can have this built by next week."

"That sounds great," Bucky says, standing up and shaking his hand. "Thank you for all your help, Mr. Stark."

"Seriously, thanks a lot for this, Tony," Steve agrees.

"No, thank _you_ guys. This should be very interesting!" Tony says, walking them to the elevators, waving as the doors shut.

There's a pause as Steve hits the "0" button and steps back. Bucky sighs.

"Maybe I should have asked for glitter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to learn more about gay communities in nyc in the 40s, read this awesome article: https://lithub.com/moving-through-new-yorks-early-20th-century-gay-spaces/


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you guys know that 'punk' in the 40s actually meant something along the lines of 'ho'? And Steve conveniently failed to mention it?"

They (as in Natasha, Clint, Sam, Maria, Bucky, Steve) are sitting in the living room, comfortably sprawled over all the furniture. Nat's laying across the giant grey sofa (Steve claims it's "lifeproof", Nat just knows it'd be a great place to crash after a mission), head in Clint's lap and legs in Maria and Sam's, looking sideways at their hosts (God, that makes them sound like actual adults), vision slightly blurred by how hard she's laughing. She's not alone. Clint _was_ braiding her hair, but promptly dropped the plait and cracked up, and Maria's full-on cackling, though that might also be because she's _into_ Sam and can't let his jokes flop.

"I demand a source," Natasha says between giggles before breathing deeply and calming down because she is the Black Widow (Steve tells her he fucking _hates_ her Cool Superhero Name, says it reduces her to nothing but the stereotypical femme fatale superhero, and she always responds with an amused "but that's what I've been trained to be") which means she is deadly and terrifying and _does not giggle_.

"Alright, let me pull it up."

"No, you really don't need to, I don’t think they're particularly interested—"

"Aha! Found it!"

"Shut your whore mouth, Rogers," Clint helpfully contributes.

"'Shakespeare was an early user of the word 'punk', which originally meant ‘female prostitute’. According to the Oxford English Dictionary…' Okay, blah, blah, blah. Uh, here. 'In the late 17th century the word began to be used to describe a boy or young man being kept by an older man for sex.' The British Library." He sets his phone down victoriously. "They only started using it to describe rock in the seventies, long after you two went under."

Steve's head is buried in his heads, making the words "I thought it was more along the lines of 'twink'" sound muffled.

"Nah, dude, a twink is just a small gay man," Sam says.

"Am I supposed to call him a ho in public now?" Bucky asks. They all shake their heads vehemently. "Well, good, 'cause I like saying he's a punk. People won't know what it really means and Steve'll have to walk around knowing I'm calling him—"

"Okay, Buck, that's very cool. Thank you." Steve's face is flushing a bright pink as he clenches and unclenches his hands nervously, uncharacteristically bashful.

Bucky simply arches an eyebrow and crosses one leg over the other.

(Let it be noted that Natasha has already, with her Expert Deduction Skills rivaled by none other than Sherlock Holmes himself, realized that Bucky is bisexual, in love with Steve, and surprisingly a top.)

(Let it also be noted that he cuffs his jeans and sits in chairs weird and stares at Steve a lot.)

"So, Bucky," she starts, feeling rather than seeing Clint stiffen up at what he's dubbed her Interrogation Voice, which means she's definitely setting the right tone here. "You're from Brooklyn, right? When'd you and Steve meet?"

"I met him in the street trying to destroy this kid who stole some other kid's book, and, uh." He takes a quick second to scrunch his nose in response to Steve's glare. "I helped him out a bit."

Sam takes the bait. "And by a bit, you mean…"

"Two straight hits to the face, then picked little Stevie up and ran like hell. Ma worried why I was suddenly getting into all these playground fights, but then she met him and his mother and decided she wouldn't tear him a new one for corrupting her good little church boy."

"I'm sure there's been a lot more _corrupting_ than she knows," Clint mutters under his breath. Nat, although focused on determining whether Bucky's good for Steve, resists the urge to chuckle, making a mental reminder to add Clint to the groupchat, now called _the real housewives of shield_ (no caps because that's tacky).

"You guys lived close to each other?" she continues.

"As kids, he was in the apartment building next to mine, and when we grew up we lived together. YMCA residential hostels." He smiles nostalgically. "It was a good time."

"I'm sure there have been a lot more _good times_ we don’t know," Clint whispers.

"Shut up," Nat hisses back.

"You thought it was funny!"

"Yeah, the first time you said it!"

"Did you have a girlfriend when you went into the ice?" Maria has picked up where Natasha left off.

"I didn't have a lot of committed relationships in my youth," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Flings and one-night things, sure, but nothing long-term."

"Your youth? You're, like, 26."

"I said what I said."

"So there wasn't, like, a special lady who cried for hours when you died or anything?"

Everyone glances at Steve, who looks like a deer caught in headlights. Bucky, the oblivious baby, simply furrows his brows in thought.

"My ma and sisters, maybe? But yeah, nobody else."

"Don't be ridiculous," Steve says. "Half of the female population of Brooklyn wailed in anguish when they found out their favorite boy toy was dead."

Clint coughs. It sounds suspiciously like "only the females?"

"I was not a boy toy!" Bucky says indignantly, seemingly not hearing Clint. "I was a wanted man."

"There's a difference?"

"I mean, sometimes I'd take lesbian couples out on dates. That doesn't make me a boy toy, right?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Maria says. "You took lesbians on dates?"

"Not in like a creepy conversion-camp sort of way!" he yelps. "I mean, if they went out together and did all the typical date stuff, they could get in trouble, right? So I'd come along with them like their token male—"

_"That's what a boy toy is!"_

"—shut up, Stevie—I came with them like their token male and warded off creeps and stuff. It was fun."

"You took girls you couldn't date on dates with each other just so they'd be safe?" Natasha asks. He shrugs.

"I didn't really think of them as 'girls I couldn't date'. Just people I couldn't help. Sometimes Stevie'd tag along."

Her phone buzzes. She flips it over.

_the real housewives of shield_

__

_Sam: this kid is just. so nice. what the ufck._

Nat smiles.

_Natasha: yup yes alright i'm adding clint_

_Sam: sick_

_Maria: Okay put the phones away now so they don't get suspicious_

"I did?"

"I called them 'double dates' sometimes."

"The Stark convention before you left, was that a real date?"

"It was not."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Didn't know how you'd feel."

"We _lived_ in a _gay hostel_!"

Nat files that fact away for deeper inspection later. And by "deeper inspection", she means picking it apart piece-by-piece in the group chat. That's just what they do, especially since Bucky came out of the ice.

Honestly, it's just nice to have friends to talk to and joke around with.

"I didn't know how you'd feel about me taking you on an impossible date."

"You weren't taking me on a date." Steve's voice is weak. His bi ass is probably just lost in the thought of what a date with Bucky would _really_ be like.

"Wasn't I?" Bucky challenges.

"Okay," Sam cuts in before they, like, start making out or arguing (both seeming equally probable) in front of everyone, efficiently snipping that conversation thread. "What're your favorite new inventions?"

"Internet," Bucky says immediately.

"Boring."

"And waffle makers."

"That's my boy."

"I like—"

"Nobody cares about you, Steve," Nat and Clint announce at the same time. He pouts.

"You guys do realize you wouldn't know Bucky unless I knew him, right?"

"We're still allowed to like him better," Nat shrugs.

"They're literally kidding, Steve," Bucky says in a monotone voice.

"They are?"

He sighs. "You have, like, one brain cell."

"I do not!"

"You ran into a Nazi camp with a shield only ever used by a woman who danced and sang about how you were the future of America."

"That wasn't that st—"

"You jumped off a helicopter without a parachute," Natasha adds.

"That was more—"

"You trusted me with SHIELD-classified secrets when the only things you knew about me were the ones you learned when you were flexing how fast your beefcake body could carry you," Sam says.

"Was that really—"

"You destroyed all the punching bags we had and then decided to start beating down the walls," Maria says.

"Okay, but—"

"You tried to do a backflip in Tony's walk-in pantry to prove how big it was and kicked the ceiling so hard it cracked."

"Clint!"

"Did nobody else know that?"

"I didn't even know he punched a wall," Bucky mumbles.

"No," answers Sam, delighted. "He did that?"

"It was the Avengers movie night, which was his idea," Clint chuckles. "We were supposed to grab licorice because it was the intermission and Thor ate them all way too quickly, and it was Steve's first time inside the kitchen because he always sits at the island or the table and refuses to cook, and he stepped into the pantry and just. He was shocked. It was hilarious. And then he was like, 'I could totally do a backflip in here' and I said, full well knowing it was too small for that, 'go ahead', and we all know Steve doesn't need much more of a push than that."

"Who here can do a backflip?" Bucky asks suddenly. Everyone raises their hands. His stay firmly in his lap. "What the fuck."

"Wait," Natasha says as an idea starts to form in her brain, and that must be her Plotting Voice or something because Steve suddenly looks very nervous. "Why don't I teach you?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I could teach you basic self-defense and train you beyond what you learned in the army. It'd be helpful!"

"I'm not sure how much of a fighter I am."

"He means he doesn't like fighting," Steve says.

"You're best friends with Steve Rogers and you don't like fighting?" Maria asks.

"That's why I said I'd teach you self-defense. I mean, your connection to us is bound to get you in trouble at some point." Everyone sends a _don't scare him away_ glare in Nat's direction. "What? He knows it's true."

"Sure," he agrees. "We could be gym buddies. Except I'd probably do, like, a quarter of the stuff you do and still get tired way too fast."

"Actually, she's probably just gonna pick you up whenever she's in town, teach you random super-secret spy skills, and then dip again," Clint says.

"That's also cool. I'm fine with anything."

"You are?"

"Why not? Steve likes you."

It's such a simple reason, stated so plainly and innocently, that she wonders for a split second if he knows she's a world-class assassin.

And then she dismisses that thought because the dork probably Googled her or something.

"You guys met the neighbors yet?" Sam asks.

Bucky nods. "Yeah, some of them dipped in during move-in week and said welcome to the neighborhood and all that jazz. They're welcoming. It's nice."

"You miss the old days?"

"We had a pretty sweet place then, yeah," he nods, "but there's only so much bigotry and poverty you can miss in a brand-new century."

Steve rolls his eyes. "We had a one-bedroom apartment that could fit into our current living room. We had a leaky sink and a crappy fridge and the whole building was frigid in the winter and boiling in the summer. The showers were loud and crowded, the water was hardly ever hot, and you could always find a whole bunch of bugs in every corner you went. I did art commissions for the wealthy. Bucky worked down at the docks. Around three-quarters of our combined salary went to bills. And, well, like he said, bigotry and poverty were all the rage in the early twentieth century. You guys know that. You've studied history."

Natasha, for all her past (her "tragic backstory" as Clint has put it when he's drunk and rambling and trying to narrate the story of her life as a high-action superhero story or sob story for no reason) has told her about good people having to suffer bad things, is still shocked that they lived like that, that Captain America and Bucky Barnes, American icons, had a tiny residence with shitty air circulation and health hazards all around and still managed to be happy.

"Like I said, man, sweet place."

"So is that a no, then? You don't miss it?" Sam asks.

"I mean, I miss some of the people," Steve admits. "Definitely miss our neighbors, the Commandos, Buck's family…"

"Margaret Carter," Bucky adds for him. Steve nods along absently.

"Yeah, I miss Pegg—wait, what the fuck?"

Bucky cackles as he catches a pillow Steve throws at his head. Faster than anyone can process, he flings it back, nailing a very surprised Steve right in the face, cheers and applause erupting from around the room. He bows in his chair.

"I have to agree, though," he says when the laughter dies down. "We had some pretty great friends, and waking up and realizing they were all gone wasn't the greatest feeling. Good thing Steve was there. I don't know if I'd be able to stand it, otherwise."

"It's weird, isn't it?" Maria says, and everyone turns to her. "I mean, say they didn't find Steve in the ice. The Chitauri might have destroyed New York in the first battle, Hydra could've been too difficult to defeat, the Winter Soldiers could've taken over the world, Sam wouldn't step back into the role of the Falcon, and Fury wouldn't've found Bucky. He'd probably come out way later. None of us would be sitting here in this cozy little apartment and acting like we didn't bond over having to fight aliens and space villains."

There's a long few seconds where everyone processes that.

"Okay, I hate that," Clint declares. "I—yeah, I hate that."

"That _is_ weird," Natasha whispers, staring at the ceiling, wondering what her life would be like had she never met Steve.

"I agree with Clint. I'm just. Oh god." Bucky looks equally haunted, burning holes into the dirty mugs littering the glass coffee table with his eyes.

"How did Maria send every person in this room into an existential crisis in thirty seconds?" Sam asks.

"It's a talent," she says.

"I'm sure it is."

"Stop flirting in the groupchat," Nat grumbles.

"That… that doesn't make sense," Maria says.

"Do I look like I care?"

"You _never_ look like you care," Sam mutters.

"I'll have you know I care about a lot of things."

She does. It isn't her fault that she's mastered the ultimate bitchface—no, really, she was forced to—and therefore seemingly has no feelings, but everyone in this room has annoyingly grown on her.

"You know what I care about?" Bucky says. "Paul Rudd in Clueless."

"What about him?" Maria prompts, a little smile making its way across her face.

"Just…" He waves around wildly. "I mean. You know."

She shakes her head. "I don't."

"Like. The flannels? And he was so smart, and cute, but they didn't try to make him all buff and the typical sort of love interest."

"You aren't into himbos?"

"Not particularly. What's the point if they don't have a heart?"

_Definitely bisexual._

"Okay. Important question for everyone here," Sam announces. "Heathers, Mean Girls, or Clueless?"

"Mean Girls. It's absolutely iconic," Clint says.

Bucky mouths _absolutely iconic_ mockingly.

"Thought you'd say Heathers, old man," Natasha jabs. "Arguably more iconic because it came first."

"Clueless!" Steve protests. "It's lighthearted, funny, and tackles the same themes as the other two in a less bitchy way."

Maria gasps. "Excuse you, Heathers wasn't bitchy—"

"They were doing murder!"

"Doing murder," Bucky snorts.

"—and it was just more _mature_ , you weak _coward_ —"

"Clueless isn't a weak choice!"

"Let's do a vote," Sam says placatingly.

"You're just saying that because you're too weak to handle Heather's big dick energy."

" _What_ big dick energy? It's just kids doing illegal shit," Clint points out.

"The moral of the story isn't 'kids doing illegal shit', the moral of the story is that you shouldn't try to be too grown-up!" Maria defends.

"Yeah, they did a great job of that. Murdered, like, three people and scarred everyone else at that school, I'm sure."

"I think they inadvertently made them too grown-up _while_ trying to show that you should cherish your youth," Bucky adds. Clint gestures to him like _see, he gets it_.

_"That's the entire point!"_

"How does that work, though?" Natasha muses. "Were they saying that kids shouldn't blow up schools? They should just, like, attend the prom and know that nothing in life matters? Don't most kids do that anyways?"

"Their school was supposed to represent society, full of young impressionable minds corrupted by only a few villains residing at the top. They stressed popularity and beauty and money without ever being able to enjoy the finer things in life. That was the lesson."

Everyone goes silent.

"Meanwhile, Clueless was out here saying to fuck your ex-stepbrother to make everything okay—"

"Weren't their parents married for, like, two seconds?" Clint asks. Steve and Bucky nod.

"I still think it's weird."

"As if you wouldn't get with Josh if you could," Bucky retorts.

"I've actually got someone else in mind." She subtly leans into Sam.

"Get your budding romance out of my house."

"Shh!" Nat stage-whispers. "We don't talk about it in front of them because they're both waiting to make a move like actual responsible adults!"

"Sorry!" he hisses back. She smiles.

"Anyways," Steve says way too loud. "I declare Clueless supremacy."

"On what grounds, bitch?" Clint fires back.

"Shut up, you're the only one who picked Mean Girls," Bucky tells him.

"Actually, I'm standing with him," Sam says. Maria gives him a weird look. "What? It's bird-guy solidary. And 'boo, you whore' forever resides in my heart."

"Clint's a bird too?" Bucky whispers, looking haunted.

"I guess we're at a stalemate, then," Steve says. "It's like that scene in The Office."

Everyone instinctively points finger guns at each other.

Natasha loves these dorks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so self-indulgent and i am so very sorry  
> please don't ask how bucky just Knows all the pop culture, i'm guessing sam and steve made him watch the classics or summat  
> thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

"Steve."

"Hngh."

"Wake up."

Steve sleeps on his side with his back stiff and straight, limbs tucked in, taking up as little space as possible by force of habit, even in a queen-sized bed. Bucky knows this both because he's the reason Steve needed to compact himself into a bed (not like _that_ , they simply conserved body heat to ward off Steve's laundry list of illnesses by sharing a bed back in Ye Olde Brooklyn) and because he's taken to waking him up in the mornings when he needs to be driven somewhere.

"Why."

His morning voice has always been ridiculously husky and flat. It's sexy as hell.

"Because you're taking me to get a haircut!"

"It's ass o'clock in the morning."

"It's eleven."

_"What?"_

Steve scrambles out of bed, rubbing at his eyes blearily with the back of one hand and grabbing his phone with the other.

"What the fuck?"

"Are you gonna take me out?" Bucky asks, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Give me ten," says Steve, and Bucky kind of doesn't want to leave the room because Steve sleeps in an obscenely tight white tank (seriously, how are his XS tops even _comfortable?_ ) and boxers and.

Instead of voicing any of that in fear of drool coming out if he opens his mouth even a little, he just gives him a double thumbs-up like the dork he is and backs out of the room awkwardly, stepping across the hall and collapsing onto his bed, holding his phone over his face like it'll burn the image of Steve away.

_Nat: morning bucko_

_Bucky: good morning natty!_

__

_Nat: call me that again and i'll break your back_

____

_Bucky: i'd prob thank u if u did_

_____ _

_Nat: fuck_

______ _ _

_Nat: you would_

_______ _ _ _

_Bucky: like unironically would def let u :)_

________ _ _ _ _

_Nat: stop_

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: i am an assassin_

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: feared all over the world_

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: u gave me a cap america tsum tsum as one of 20 housewarming gifts_

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: stop ruining my reputation!!_

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: any plans for today?_

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: haircut_

_______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: FINALLY_

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: :(_

_________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: you were getting a little shaggy there bucko_

__________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: i'm just stating the facts_

___________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: forgiven_

____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: i??? didn't apologize?_

_____________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: forgiven_

______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: where's steve_

_______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: showering_

________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: i j woke him up_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: y_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There's a tap on the window. He barely resists the urge to scream.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What's up?" Natasha asks through the thin glass as if she _isn't standing on his fire escape for no reason at all what the fuck_ , smiling casually.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Nat!" he exclaims, rushing over and unbolting the window.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"That's me," she says as she gracefully steps inside.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What're you doing here?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Felt like dropping in. This isn't the first time I've broken in, is it?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It is not. She has entered their house a grand total of six times before without a key or any assistance, all at ass o'clock in the morning to wake Bucky up and take him to that empty padded room in the gym so they can spar or whatever until he's completely worn through and his bones feel like jelly.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

(On the bright side, he can now take someone down by scissoring his legs around their head and twisting his body just so. She said, while she was teaching him, that Steve hated how "demeaning" and "sexualizing" it was and laughed when he told her that although Steve was correct, it made him feel powerful, and who doesn't want to die surrounded by his thighs, anyways?)

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Anyways, I'm here to help with the haircut," she shrugs. "I was planning on dragging you back down for more self-defense lessons, but heading to the salon sounds like a lot more fun, so."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"All I'm gonna get is a trim," he says.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She rolls her eyes. "And _I'm_ going to get a manicure. Not everything's about you."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What's a manicure?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"It's where they treat and paint your nails." She wiggles her fingers in front of him. "It's really nice."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I want one, too," he decides. "Wait. Are guys allowed to get them?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Of course," she says, patting his shoulder. "C'mon, I'm hungry and you've got all the good snacks."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He follows her dutifully out of his room. "Steve was perfectly fine with sticking with my healthy stuff, but I convinced him to get what he liked." He lowers his voice instinctually. "Did he take care of himself when I was gone?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Kind of." She makes a face. "I mean, he was happy. More so around other people, but he learned to be happy. We had Avengers movie nights whenever Thor visited, and Sam's basically everyone's replacement mother. But I think it was hard for him, especially at first, to adjust to the new century. He drew a lot. Stark gave him these nice pencils and a cool sketchbook and all. He lit up that day."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"He does like drawing," he muses, settling into a barstool as Nat grabs a bag of Doritos from the pantry. "Always has."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What'd he usually draw?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Me."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She raises her brows.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'm totally kidding. He didn't just draw _me,_ he also drew my surroundings."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Clint thinks you're dating."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Well._

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Dating who?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Slick._

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Don't play dumb, Barnes, we all know how brilliant you are."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I hate having spies as friends. You guys are like lie-sniffers."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The corner of her mouth tilts up.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Maybe you're just bad at lying."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He gasps in mock offense, palm splayed over his chest. "You break into _my_ house, eat _my_ snacks—"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"These are Steve's," she interrupts, crunching on a chip just to prove a point.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"—and then insult me? The nerve," he finishes, acting like she didn't say anything.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You want some?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'm good."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Nat swings her legs absently. Bucky taps his metal fingers on the countertop and they clink like little bells.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Should I get some sort of design on my arm?" he asks, because he isn't good with pauses in conversation and he's been thinking about it anyways.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You should get something that coordinates with Steve's outfit," she suggests. "Like a star."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He presses his lips together. "Why didn't I think of that?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She taps the side of her head with her pointer finger. "I'm the greatest thinker you'll ever know. And you're not creative."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I am too!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No, you're smart and logical, but we all know Steve's the creative one."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"…"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Well?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You're right."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Don't worry," she sighs, inspecting the folded-over chip between her fingers as if it holds all the answers to the universe, "we need someone logical looking over Steve's stupid blonde ass."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I heard you were talking shit about me," Steve says, strolling into the kitchen in a too-tight black shirt (what a surprise) and khakis, and Bucky sighs because _khakis? Seriously?_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I fucking hate when you wear khakis," he says. Steve folds his arms over his chest (which he does a lot of and Bucky's pretty sure he's never going to get sick of _that_ , oh god) and quirks his mouth on one side, unimpressed. "I do. I really do."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Am I supposed to go back to my room and change?" he challenges. Bucky shrugs.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'm not saying that'd be a bad idea."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Hello?" Nat says from behind him. "I'm here too."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Cool. Hi. Let's go."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'm hurt," she mutters, but stands up nonetheless, moving out of the way so Steve can grab the keys from the little bowl made of cut-and-glued plastic Coca-Cola bottles (recycling and reusing matters!) and following him out the door.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"How'd you get in, anyways?" Steve asks once they hit the sidewalk outside their building. Natasha gives him an unimpressed look.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"C'mon, Steve," she says. "You know me better than that."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"She got on the fire escape and knocked on my window," Bucky explains.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It's Steve's turn to look unimpressed. "Fire escape?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I've entered and exited your house with a grown man six times without you noticing."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I wasn't doubting your abilities, just questioning the technique. That's all it is."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Good."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Anyways, I was at the gym totally _crushing_ the leg-curl machine this morning when a very intimidating and beefy man came up to me and asked for my autograph, 'cause I'm Bucky Barnes and the coolest guy ever, and he was totally over the moon when I gave it to him. It was an enlightening experience."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"How was it enlightening?" Steve asks.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I dunno. Just felt like using the word."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"It is a pretty cool word," Nat agrees.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I think 'interesting' would probably be a better way to describe it, but I'm going for the cool modern-day clever novella feel, you feel me?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Steve blinks at him owlishly. "I don't feel you."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Unfortunate."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I do," Nat says.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Shut up, Nat," they say at the same time.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'm going to stop hanging out with you two if you keep bullying me."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Sorry, Nat," they chorus again.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Stop acting like creepy twins in a horror movie!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Okay, Nat."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Stop!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Steve and Bucky crack up as she slaps both of their shoulders indignantly.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Have you guys always been able to read each others' minds?" she demands.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I mean, basically," Steve giggles.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"He knows almost everything that's in my head," Bucky adds.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Almost?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Almost."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What don't I know?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He chuckles. "A lot of things."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Alright," Natasha says, and she looks at him _like so_ , and suddenly he realizes she _knows,_ which he supposes was fairly obvious given nobody can lie to her and Sam probably figured it out the second he saw him in that hospital room for the first time, but it’s alarming all the same because _does that mean Steve knows?_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Steve waves his hand between Nat and Bucky's faces. They startle and stare straight at the sidewalk ahead. "You guys are being weird."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Okay, so he doesn't._

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You're weird."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Real mature, Bucky."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He sticks his tongue out.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"That just proves my point!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Buy me a lollipop."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Steve throws his hands up, exasperated. Natasha dissolves into laughter.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________

_____ _

xxx

_____ _

_  
_  
_  
_   
_   
_

"Tell me I'm pretty, Steve."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky's currently sitting in front of Steve in his armchair, and Steve's running his fingers through Bucky's freshly cut hair, not realizing Bucky's recording him with the selfie camera, and Bucky _knows_ it's a couple-y thing to do but it just feels so _nice_ , so instead of bringing that up or mentioning the fact that Steve is _playing with his hair_ , he decides to go for the flirty banter route.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You know, road less traveled or whatever.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You're pretty fucking annoying, that's what you are."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He pouts. "You're just jealous. _Someone_ texted Maria the entire time we were at the salon instead of getting his nails done."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

To emphasize his point, Bucky shifts the phone from his flesh hand to his metal one, then waggles his glittery red nails in Steve's face.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"They are pretty," he admits.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Yes! See? You're an artist, and this was a missed opportunity to get art _on your body!_ "

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I mean, it's just your nails. Arguably, art on your body would re—"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Alright, shut up." Steve's blunt nails haven't stopped scraping along his scalp, and it feels _really fucking nice_ , and Bucky wonders if he has a hair kink. "I just wanted you to concede."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Okay?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

" _And_ get your nails painted with me next time."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky tilts his head back, smushing Steve's hands against his lap, and looks up at his upside-down face. Steve does not look at him. "Please?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He puts on his best puppy eyes.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Please?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Steve huffs out a sigh, finally looking Bucky straight in the eyes, but he lowers his head and they're, like, five inches apart and Bucky does not have the mental capacity to deal with this. "Fine."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky stops the recording and closes the camera app surreptitiously, batting his eyelashes to distract from what his fingers are doing, then turns his head upright, Steve's fingers going right back into his hair as he opens up Twitter.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What're you doing?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Uh, Twitter?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He clicks "New Post" and uploads the video. Steve's hands still.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You recorded me?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He quickly posts it and slides it into his back pocket. "No?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'm literally following your Twitter, Buck, I can check if I want to."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky lays his palms flat over Steve's ankles. His entire body twitches.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Huh?_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"But you won't," he says, sounding twice as confident as he actually is.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Maybe I won't," Steve agrees. "Maybe I will."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"But it doesn't matter," Bucky points out cheekily, "because I've posted it already and it's probably going to go viral and everyone's going to be talking about Captain America's personal life tomorrow."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"They already have," he mutters, and his hands lift off Bucky's head and he's about to protest but his phone starts to buzz incessantly.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________________________________

_____ _

_gang gang_

_____ _

_  
___  
  
  
  
  
  
  


__

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Sam: stream bucky recording steve without realizing_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Clint: there's only 1 couple in my here heart_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: clint stfu_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: but yeah v cute we stan_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Maria: !!!!!_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: Guys shut up_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: nonono please promote my post_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: let's go viral bitches_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: i already have 50000 twitter notifs blowing my phone up_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He swipes up on another like to dismiss it and mentally reminds himself to turn off notifications later.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: Why the hell did you post that_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: clout_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: JKJK i j think the world deserves more wholesome steeb content_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: and i get a shit ton of it at home_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: may as well share it w the world_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: But they'll say stuff_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Maria: Are you or are you not sitting in the same room rn_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Sam: they def r_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: yea_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: We are_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: dumbasses_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Clint: seriously i can't wait for more steve content_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: i live to serve_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: No you don't_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: :(_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: pwease_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: No_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Maria: Everyone shut up they're recreating the video_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Sam: lmaooooo_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Sam: buck u should prob turn off notifs_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: Excuse me, I am the only one who gets to call him Buck_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Clint: oooooooh_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Nat: shut up clint_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Sam: kk fine_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: steve pwease_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: No_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Bucky: pwease_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve: Fine_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Maria: that's a wrap_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky turns around to face Steve, shifting up onto his knees so he can see him easier, crossing his forearms across Steve's thighs.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Can we go to the library tomorrow?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What?" Steve blinks, eyes distracted and hazy. "Oh. Sure. Where is it?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Down the street."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Okay."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A knock sounds at the door.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I'll get it," Steve says, and Bucky moves out of the way so he can stand up and walk to the door.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Hello," a little voice says at the front door. "My name is Peter, I live nextdoo—ohmygodyou'recaptainamerica."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky joins Steve at the door. A scrawny teenager, probably around fourteen years old, with a mop of curly brown hair and excited brown eyes stands in the hall, his fingers fidgeting with a little robotic bird.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"And Bucky Barnes," he breaths. "You have a metal arm? That's awesome! I didn't know you were alive. I mean, I didn't know you were alive, sir. You're my hero, sir."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Why's that?" he asks, a lazy smile stretching across his mouth.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You're considered one of the best snipers of all time, you went to war despite being a nonviolent person, you were rumored to get all the girls…" Peter flushes red. "I mean, I'm only in eighth grade, but that's all just so cool. And, uh. Captain America, sir, you're really cool. Too."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Thanks," Steve says. "What'd you come here for, son?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Oh. I got locked out of the apartment, and Aunt May isn't home, so I was wondering if you had a spare key or something?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"We don't," says Bucky. Peter's face falls. "You can stay here until she gets home, though. Do you have a phone?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Yeah?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Tell her you'll be in apartment 3C and to pick you up when she comes home."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Okay!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Come inside, kid," Steve adds. "How was school?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Peter takes his backpack off and places it gently next to the island before sliding into one of the barstools. "It was good. Kind of boring. We've started raising mealworms in science."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You like bugs?" Bucky asks, walking into the kitchen. "You want a snack?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No and yes, please," he says. "Mealworms are kinda gross. They crawl all over each other like tiny snakes, 'cept they aren't cool and menacing like actual snakes are. And spiders are so scary! I can't stand them."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Amen to that, brother," Bucky says, holding his metal palm out for a high-five. Peter smacks it a little too hard, and reels his hand back. "Sorry."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No problem," he squeaks.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Grilled cheese good?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Grilled cheese sounds great."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You want chocolate milk with that?" Steve asks, opening up the fridge and tossing Bucky a block of cheese before rooting through the fifty kinds of juice and milks they've got.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"If it isn't too much trouble, that'd be awesome. Thank you, sir."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"No need for formalities," Steve laughs. "I'm just Steve to you."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Yes, Steve."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

There's a pause.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"…sir."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky chuckles. "You're gonna make us feel old. We're just your wacky neighbors! Don't stress about it!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You're war heroes, sir," Peter retaliates.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"This _war hero_ is currently making you a sandwich," he says, gripping a grater with his regular arm and shredding cheddar with his metal one.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"And this one's pouring you a cup of chocolate milk," Steve adds.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Shut up, Steve, you aren't doing anything special."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"All you're doing is grating cheese!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Still more than you!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Steve rolls his eyes and passes a glass of milk to an amused-looking Peter.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Is this how the apartment always is? Petty fights?" he asks, raising the glass to his lips.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Basically," they respond in unison, then stick their tongues out at each other.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"We're cool," Steve says.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You could take us in for show-and-tell!" Bucky exclaims. Peter laughs. "Say, Pete, you mentioned that I got all the ladies, which is totally true, by the way—"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Buck," Steve admonishes.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"—what I'm trying to ask is if you have anyone special in mind," he finishes. Peter flushes red.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Buck!" Steve says again.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Yeah," he admits. "There's this girl named Liz that I've known for a while, and she's really pretty. And nice. And smart. I don't just like her because she's pretty. That would be kind of disrespectful."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"And this Liz girl… are you friends with her?" he continues, sprinkling the cheese generously onto a slice of bread and gently placing the other slice on top.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Sort of. I'm really into photography, and I take pictures for the yearbook of school clubs and dances and stuff, and she's in almost all the clubs and always organizes the events. Everyone loves her, even the teachers, 'cause she's super nice. Did I already say that? I think I already said that."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You did already say that," Bucky says. "It's okay, though. You should try to make sure you're _friends_ friends, you know?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I don't understand," he says.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Like, try to use your photography as a positive, you feel me? Ask if you can take a solo picture of her one day when she's doing something cool, and then, once you get her alone, try to strike up a conversation."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Peter looks like the secrets to the world have all been revealed to him. "That's genius."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Thank you, I try." Bucky fucking _loves_ his metal arm because he can flip the sandwich in the pan without a spatula (and yes, he did wash it before cooking) and without fear of getting burnt. "I'll teach you my ways, young one."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I don't think he needs to know _all_ your ways," Steve teases, walking past him to put the milk away.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky ignores. "See, Pete, there's a certain science to how crushes work."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Really?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Really. Steve, c'mere."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Why?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I need to help the kid!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Fine."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Crushes release chemicals all throughout your body, which cause a few physical things to happen when you see your crush. One: your pupils dilate." Bucky looks at Steve, fully knowing his eyes are going to be totally normal.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They're not.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They're almost black.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Huh._

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Why?" Peter asks. Bucky shakes his head to clear it.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Well, when your pupils are bigger, you're able to take in more light, so when you see your crush, your eyes try to maximize the amount of crush you're actually seeing." He grabs the sandwich right off the pan and drops it into a plate. "And the second thing is that your heart rate picks up, especially when you touch them."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"How do you measure heart rate?"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He cuts the sandwich in half, then slides the plate across the counter. Peter stops it with his palm.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Put two fingers on the thumb side of your wrist, like this," he explains, pointing to where it is on Steve. "You should feel it settle in a hollow between your bone and tendon, which I know sounds creepy, but I don't know how else to describe it. When your heart rate is normal, it should be relatively easy to tell. It should be slow and steady. But when it picks up…"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He presses his pointer down. Steve's pulse races against the pad of his finger, too fast even for his serum-enhanced body. Bucky yanks his hand back like it's been burned.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"…it's easy to tell."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Is Steve in love with me?_

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I didn't know you could do that," Peter remarks. "Also, this sandwich is really good. Thank you."

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Bucky nods. "You might also get happy or nervous or scared or sweaty. That's totally normal, too. Even adults feel that way!"

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Cool," says Peter. His eyes flicker between Bucky and Steve before going right back to his plate.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And suddenly it makes sense.

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Steve's in love with me._

_________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i make steve and bucky live in queens PURELY so pete and may could be characters in this fic? that's a secret i'll never tell


	6. Chapter 6

Steve's pretty sure he and Bucky have adopted Peter as their brand-new nephew and he isn't sure how his actual aunt feels about it.

Peter's staying at their apartment more and more often, cooking with Steve or watching documentaries with Bucky or just reading in the giant leather wing chair in the living room (which he seems to have claimed as his own) and drinking one of the Capri-Suns they always have in their fridge for him, and he always says he's texted Aunt May and informed her of his location and that he'll be home by 9 o'clock.

So Steve's pretty sure Peter's his new nephew but he's never met his _actual_ aunt, which is, like, bad neighbor behavior, and totally weird, too. They basically stole her kid without asking first.

Definitely weird.

And Steve's still thinking about it right before dinner that night, in the middle of stirring the flour and baking powder and salt and whatever with a wooden spoon (because Peter's using the electric mixer for the butter and eggs and sugar, and everyone knows powders basically explode in electric mixers anyways), and he's about to suggest that Pete come over with his aunt for dessert and coffee when the front door opens and two laughing people spill in.

First is Bucky, radiant as always but kind of sweaty, shirt lifting up as he squirts some of his water into his mouth, and then another attractive brunette follows, this one a brown-eyed lady wearing a white athletic crop top and high-waisted purple leggings, waving her black rolled-up yoga mat as she gestures along with her story.

"Aunt May?" Peter asks, incredulously.

_What?_

She brightens up even more, which Steve didn't even realize was possible, because she's already, like, the sunniest person he's ever seen, and he can't tell if that's how she is naturally or if Bucky just has that effect on her. "James told me you'd be here!"

"It's _Bucky_ ," he corrects her, rolling his eyes and turning to Steve and missing her coy smirk at his exasperation, which makes Steve like her immediately. "Peter's Aunt May is in my yoga class, and I didn't realize this May and that May were the same until I offered to walk her home tonight 'cause there was a creepy guy lurking outside the studio and none of the other ladies were heading this way and it ended up we were in the same building."

"But I ca—"

"I'm sure you could kick his ass, May," he reassures her. "I'm just taking the proper preventative measures, okay?"

Damn. Bucky's good at this nonviolence thing.

Steve'd just beat the creep up. Fuck him.

"Want to join us for dinner?" Steve asks as Peter snatches the dry mixture bowl from in front of him. "We made chicken tortilla soup and this fancy-ass bread recipe Bucky got from a friend."

"That'd be great," she says. "I'm just gonna go back and shower." She looks at Peter. "Don't eat too much of that dough, young man."

"Yes, ma'am," he mutters reluctantly.

She smiles as she walks out.

"I should do the same," Bucky sighs.

"You're stinking up my kitchen," Steve agrees, even though he doesn't look half bad in his grey muscle tee (which is getting tighter and tighter) from all those early-morning hours at the gym) and black sweats.

Bucky sticks his tongue out at him as he walks down the hallway, still carrying all his gear. Steve covers Peter's eyes and flips him off.

"You know I know what you're doing, Mr. Steve?"

"Shh. No. You don't."

Peter nods. "I do—"

Steve brings his other hand back down and clasps it over Peter's mouth, who immediately licks it, and Steve wonders how Bucky never pulls his hand away in disgust when Steve licks _his_ hand, because it's fucking disgusting and he's rushing over to a sink faster than he ever has in his life. Peter, on the other hand, simply giggles and moves back to the now-completed dough, pushing the bowl between the two so they can form balls of dough, roll them in the shared cinnamon-and-sugar mixture, and plop them onto the cookie sheet.

 _Paranoid Android_ plays all the way through without either of them speaking (and Steve usually hates when songs are longer than five minutes but it's Radiohead so they get a free pass).

"Baking is easier than I expected," Steve comments idly after the song fades out.

"We probably messed up at some point," Peter shrugs.

"Where's that positive attitude?" he asks even though he secretly agrees.

"It never existed," he says dryly.

Steve sighs. "Teenagers," he mutters under his breath with just enough of a smile on his face for Peter to know he's joking.

"Boomers," Peter whispers defiantly in response.

"Joke's on you, 'cause I don't know what that means."

"Baby boomers," he explains in what has become his Teacher Voice whenever Bucky asks questions about the modern day, "were the generation of kids born after the war."

There's a pause as Peter registers what he said.

"Shoot."

"Shoot indeed." Steve's trying not to laugh, he really is.

"You're _older_ than a boomer," Peter murmurs, eyes blown wide. "That's… wow. Incredible."

"I know."

"Technically, though, your body's only—what?—27 years old? A combination of being in the ice and the serum made sure you didn't age."

"You're older than me," says Bucky, running his fingers through his damp hair as he strolls into the kitchen. "That's—that's not okay."

"Get used to it," Steve teases. "Taller, older, bigger… it's all downhill from here."

"Or is it?" Bucky challenges mysteriously.

"What does that even mean?"

"I'm not sure, but I definitely had you intimidated for a second there." Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Bucky holds up a hand to cut him off. "Don't argue. I know that's physically impossible for you or something, but try, yeah?"

Peter snorts.

Traitor.

Steve's about to say as much when a knock sounds at the door (and dear God, even May's _knocks_ sound cheerful) and he needs to slap a chunk of dough finding its way to Peter's mouth out of his hand back into the big bowl, avoiding the kid's pout in favor of hurrying over to the soup and turning off the heat.

"Come in!" Bucky calls.

May walks in, now in a white shift blouse and dark skinny jeans and a really cute pair of glasses (and Steve swears he isn't _that_ into fashion, she just dresses young for her age and somehow pulls it off).

Steve grabs the cookie tray and crams it into the prepared oven. Peter twists the egg timer. They both grab plates and bowls and start setting the counter (they don't have a dining table because Bucky said they didn't need one) in unison, finishing and sliding into their respective seats at the same time.

"Peter talks about you guys all the time," May remarks as she walks over to her own chair. "I'm always hearing about your plans and shenanigans."

"Nobody says 'shenanigans' anymore, May," Bucky informs her.

"I raised this child. I'm allowed to talk like a suburban mother."

"You live in _New York City_."

"I'm your _nephew_ ," Peter adds.

"Oh, pish posh," she says, waving her hands, and both boys _wince_ , making the exact same _yikes_ face and recoiling.

"What plans has he told you about?" Steve asks instead of asking why she's talking like an old lady, ladling soup into four bowls and handing them to every person.

"Reading to kids at the library, hacking Times Square billboards, testing how much heat Bucky's metal arm can handle, seeing if Tony Stark has internships for middle schoolers, catching snakes at the park, selling cardboard bars wrapped in candy wrappers…"

"Just to be clear, we didn't follow through on most of those," he cuts in loudly. It seems important to let her know they didn't take her nephew near any potentially dangerous reptiles.

"Which did you do?" Her smile has a teasing tilt to it. Steve suddenly misses his own ma something awful.

"Just the reading to kids and seeing if Stark had internships for middle schoolers. Which he didn't."

"That's understandable," she nods. "Peter's only going into eighth grade."

"S'okay, kid, I'm sure he'll let you come along to one of my arm appointments," Bucky assures him, patting his head.

Peter's face lights up. "You think?"

"I know," he promises. "Now eat your soup."

"Yes, Uncle Be—Bucky. Uncle Bucky. Hey, isn't there a movie called Uncle Bucky? Not that I've watched it or anything, but I think I've heard of it. Isn't that funny? I think that's funny—"

"Uncle Buck," May corrects, interrupting his awkward ranting, but something in her face has closed off. Peter nods sharply, then takes a sip of his soup, face uncharacteristically grim. Steve glances at Bucky as if to say _you see this too?_ Bucky nods subtly.

"We could watch it on movie night, if you'd like," Bucky says, probably to diffuse the tension. "Compare and contrast the screen Uncle Buck to the real-life one. Eat popcorn. Do movie night stuff."

Peter wrinkles his nose. "We've never done a movie night before."

"Doesn't mean we can't start now," Bucky says with a lopsided grin, seemingly getting more and more excited about the idea, and his infectious enthusiasm seems to be spreading to the Parkers. "Hey, May, you're totally invited, too! And we can all fit comfortably on the couch—I mean, it might need a little snuggling, but who _doesn't_ like snuggling, anyways?—and eat and watch and stuff."

"That sounds fun!" Peter exclaims. "Can we do it on Friday?"

"Sure, bud."

The conversation ebbs as everyone digs in.

"By the way, this soup is amazing," May says after a few minutes of eating.

"Thank you!" Steve says. "Made it with Pete. We spent the whole day in the kitchen."

"You're a house-spouse?"

"Oh, we aren't together," Bucky says. "Been best friends since '24, though. Been with him through thick and thin." He pauses, then swings his fork absentmindedly, a sad piece of lettuce hanging precariously off of one of the prongs. "Literally."

Steve's face heats up. "Oh, I'm thick?"

"I can't fit my arm around your bicep. Yeah, you're thick now." Bucky rolls his eyes as if it's obvious. "Double 'c'."

Peter cracks up and slaps his hand at what's either an inside joke or a meme. Bucky's just a smidge tech-savvier than Steve is now, so he and Peter have a few references that Steve doesn't understand.

But only a few.

And he may or may not be cataloguing "thicc" under the "there was a reference I didn't understand so now I have to look it up and learn its entire history" folder in his head.

"Anyways, I'd probably be more of a house-spouse than Steve would, 'cause I learned to cook first."

"I cleaned better," Steve counters.

"Past tense. Only 'cause you were smaller."

"I still clean better! I can reach more of the mirror space!"

"Yeah, but I wipe down the counters better. You just sort of dust them off."

"That's not true."

"It is, Mr. Steve," Peter pipes up, ignoring the glare Steve shoots his way. "You've got all those muscles. Why not use them?"

"I would break through the kitchen counter," he says.

"No, you wouldn't," Bucky and Peter chorus, eyebrows scrunched and mouths curling up. Steve is struck, not for the first time, how similar they look and act.

"Yeah? Wanna bet?"

" _Or, _" May says, and Steve feels bad for kind of forgetting she was here, "we could just relax and talk like adults."__

__"But I'm not an adult," Peter points out._ _

__May smirks. "You want to go home, then?"_ _

__"No," he says quickly._ _

__"That's what I thought."_ _

__"So, May, where do you work?" Steve asks._ _

__"See? Real adult talk," she says to Peter, who rolls his eyes. "I work for the Daily Bugle as an editor."_ _

__"You like it?"_ _

__"The people are nice," she answers breezily. "Boss is stingy. Pay's alright."_ _

__"I wanna take pictures for the Bugle someday!" Peter contributes._ _

__"Yeah? What do you think you'd take pictures of?"_ _

__"People. Superheroes, if they'd let me." He slips Steve a little smile. "I've got some connections."_ _

__"You really think they'd pay a baby for that?" Bucky laughs, and Peter crosses his arms defiantly._ _

__"I'm not a _baby,_ " he whines with a pout, his shaggy brown curls falling into his doelike eyes, making him look strikingly young. Steve snorts at the irony._ _

__"How tall are you?"_ _

__"No off-topic questions." Bucky opens his mouth, but Peter closes his fingers like Bucky did to Steve, like, ten minutes ago. "Because I said so."_ _

__"Are you referencing—"_ _

__"That's an off-topic question." Peter punctuates his sentence with a loud slurp of soup. "You have been stopped."_ _

__Bucky cackles. Steve finds himself unwittingly smiling along._ _

__"You think you'd do freelance?" Steve questions. "Sell your exclusive superhero pictures to the Bugle?"_ _

__"Steve asks the right questions," Peter announces._ _

__"I do too, but you're too cowardly to address that."_ _

__"He's 5'1"," May says._ _

__"May!"_ _

__"Just ignore them," Steve instructs as the two high-five in the background._ _

__"Fine," he grumbles. "I'd do freelance, yeah. I'd sell my soul it meant I could afford Cheesecake Factory every night. It isn't a big deal."_ _

__All the adults blink at him. He holds up an awkward peace sign and takes a bite of his bread._ _

__"Honestly, same," Bucky says after about a minute of weird tension._ _

__"I can afford it but I don't really need my soul anyways," Steve shrugs._ _

__May scrunches her eyebrows together. "Are you guys okay?"_ _

__"Nothing in life matters," they declare in unison, dropping their spoons into the soup and each holding up double thumbs-up._ _

__Her eyes widen. "Jesus Christ."_ _

__"Not quite," says Bucky. "Maybe if I grew my hair out, though. Don't think I will. I'm not really digging the sad brainwashed assassin look, you know? And I don't—"_ _

__"Oh my god, Buck, _shut up,_ " Steve interrupts with a smack to his shoulder._ _

__"That isn't the right way to talk to your lord and savior, Stevie."_ _

__"…"_ _

__"That's right. There's no witty retort. I've saved your ass more times than you can count. I mean, I'm no Jesus, but.."_ _

__"I could've handled most of those fights."_ _

__"Been with you through thick and thin," Bucky repeats dramatically, then rakes his eyes across Steve's body with a smirk, which is. New._ _

__Steve's face is hot. He's not sure why. It could be that he's bad with compliments. It could be that Peter and May are still here. It doesn't really matter, whatever it is._ _

__"Doesn't matter. I could've taken them on my own," he insists._ _

__"Didn't look like it."_ _

__"You guys have this fight at least twice a day," Peter comments. May chuckles._ _

__"I can see why Peter likes hanging out here," she says, casting an appreciative look around at the décor. "It's probably more fun than sitting around bored all day."_ _

__"And we love having Pete over, too," Steve says._ _

__"Kid's taught me a ton about the century," Bucky adds._ _

__"He's like the grandpa I never had," Peter says, fake-wiping tears away from his eyes._ _

__"Why, you little—"_ _

__The two start catfighting, slapping at each other gently enough for it not to hurt but with more than enough intent._ _

__"What maturity you all display," May says dryly, and Steve can't help but giggle._ _

__"Yeah," he agrees, watching Bucky fight a child, "I guess that's just how we do things around here."_ _

__

____

xxx

____

_  
___  
  
  


__"God, I forgot that it was _hot as balls_ here," Bucky declares as soon as he unlocks the door, jogging into the house. "Must be a side effect from seventy years on the rocks—oh, hi, Sam."_ _

__Steve and Sam wave from the couch. "Hey, Bucky," Sam greets him._ _

__"What're you doing here?" Bucky moves directly into view, and Steve suddenly wonders how many peoples' days he makes by running around with his tiny black shorts and thin green tank top that probably belonged to Tony at one point and was passed down along the line of Avengers, dripping obscenely with sweat and pumping his arms and whatnot._ _

__"Just hanging out," he shrugs. "Oh god, go shower. I can smell you from here."_ _

__"No, you can't." Bucky runs a hand through his already wind-tousled hair (which is weird, because New York City summers aren't exactly known for being breezy, but Steve supposes the universe likes to make Bucky look like a model for no goddamn reason) and scrunches his nose. "This humidity is horrible for my hair."_ _

__"What do you mean? You look great," Steve says instinctually because it's very important that his friends know that they're wonderful and ridiculously attractive. Bucky gives him a disdainful look._ _

__"Your hair's always been a low-maintenance bitch," Bucky says, "so you don't get to talk."_ _

__"I—"_ _

__"He's right, Rogers," says Clint, and Steve snaps his attention away from Bucky just in time to watch Clint jump out of his now-open vent and land gracefully on the floor, then roll to the side and let Natasha mimic his landing._ _

__Steve can't make this shit up. He really can't._ _

__"Oh, so when you said you were snapping me from the vents, you were serious?" Sam asks nonchalantly. Nat nods._ _

__"I don't lie to you, Wilson."_ _

__"That's a lie right there."_ _

__The trademark lift of her mouth is tugged up even more when there's a knock at the door._ _

__"What the actual fuck," Bucky breathes out rather belatedly, eyes wide as he stares at Clint, an unmoving statue even as Nat brushes past him to get to the door._ _

__"Hi, Bu—what the frick?"_ _

__Steve's neck cracks as he whips his head around to face the front door from behind the half-wall behind the couch facing the couch._ _

__"Hey, sweetie," Nat says, voice sugar-sweet. "Who're you?"_ _

__"I'm their neighbor and nephew figure," Peter tells her, voice amazed. "You're the Black Widow. You're amazing."_ _

__Steve huffs out a sigh._ _

__"Don't mind Steve, he just doesn't like my Cool Superhero Name," Natasha says, then presumably opens the door wider because little footsteps patter the floor._ _

__"I do. It's hardcore. You're—you're awesome. You're a goddess. You're the coolest Avenger. And the scariest one." He looks apologetically to Steve. "Sorry, Cap."_ _

__"It's okay," Clint pipes up. "People don't realize Steve's a badass motherfucker until he's revving in on his motorcycle and frisbeeing his shield right into their faces._ _

__"You flatter me," Steve says flatly._ _

__"It's Hawkeye. Oh my god. Mr. Hawkeye sir, is it true that you can pin a fly to a wall from 200 meters away?"_ _

__Clint huffs out a laugh. "You wanna see me in action?"_ _

__"It'd be an honor, sir."_ _

__Sam turns around and faces the kid._ _

__"Oh my god." He grabs at Natasha's arm absentmindedly, probably thinking she's Bucky. She simply laces her fingers in his with a fond little smile. "That's the Falcon."_ _

__"He knows me, too?" he asks._ _

__Maria opens the door. "I'm here," she tells everyone._ _

__"Hi, Maria," everyone greets her._ _

__"Hello, ma'am," Peter says._ _

__"Hey, kid." She does a double take. "Why's a kid here? Oh, please don't tell me he's an Avenger."_ _

__"Nephew-figure," Steve says, hoping that's enough of an explanation._ _

__"Thank god," she says, then moves into the living room._ _

__"How do you know me, Peter-kid?" Sam asks._ _

__"Sir, you were trending on YouTube for _weeks_ ," Peter gushes. "You're incredible. Are your wings made of carbon fiber? I mean, that'd explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio."_ _

__"They actually are," says Sam, pleased. "Hear that? I was trending on YouTube!"_ _

__"I'm verified on Twitter," Steve, Natasha, and Clint say in unison. Sam flips them the bird. Peter laughs gleefully._ _

__"This is amazing. This is so cool. It's, like, everything I ever wanted." He scrunches his nose. "Well, almost."_ _

__"How could it be better?" Sam asks, affronted._ _

__"Not like that, sir!" Peter yelps. "It's just that I'm a huge fan of Mr. Stark's. And Dr. Banner's. I actually wrote a paper about his research on gamma radiation and the mutating side effects it could have on a generation of babie—okay, I'm nerd-speaking, I'm sorry, I'll continue with my point. Uh. Thor! Thor'd be super cool to meet, too, 'cause he can shoot lightning and lives in, like, heaven or whatever."_ _

__"The kid's done his research," Clint says. Everyone nods in approval._ _

__"What'd I miss?" Bucky asks, walking back into the room, rubbing a towel in his hair and wearing another one of Steve's shirts._ _

__"How long are your showers, dude?" Sam asks._ _

__He shrugs._ _

__"Do you know how to wear your own clothes?" Nat asks. "Do you, like, not have any or something?"_ _

__"What do you mean?"_ _

__"That shirt," she says, gesturing to the graphic Iron Man tee clinging to his shoulders. "I gave that to Steve as a joke."_ _

__"It's comfy."_ _

__"It's Steve's."_ _

__"Couldn't care less. Did nobody hear me ask that question, or…?"_ _

__"We came to take y'all to a pride parade." Sam dumps everything out of his bag. "I brought face paint."_ _

__"Pride?"_ _

__"Remember when I said we didn't need places like the Y anymore?" Steve asks. Bucky nods. "Well, that's because now they're kind of just a part of regular society. Pride parades are them accepting it."_ _

__Bucky nods, pleased. Steve still doesn't know what that means._ _

__"Is this the LGBT stuff you were telling me about?" he asks Peter, who nods. "Okay. Cool. Well. I'm bisexual."_ _

__Well, now he knows._ _

__"Oh, me too," pretty much everyone says, then points fingers at everyone else like a giant version of that Spiderman meme and the fact that that's the first thing Steve thought of is probably proof that Steve's been spending too much time on Reddit._ _

__"You?" Steve asks Clint._ _

___"You?"_ Clint asks Steve._ _

__"Of course him," Natasha says, and Steve doesn’t have time to ask what she means because she's looking at Maria. "You?"_ _

__"I said it. Sam?"_ _

__"Obviously."_ _

__"How is that statistically possible?" Peter questions. "I mean, I'm pansexual, but how did we end up in a room with everyone in-between on the sexuality spectrum? Do you realize how unique of a possibility this is?"_ _

__Bucky turns to him. "Exactly! It goes to show how we—"_ _

__"Shut up, nerds," Steve says._ _

__"Real original, jock," Bucky and Peter fire back._ _

__"We don't have time for arguments, dipshits," Sam cuts in. "Peter-man, is your aunt chill with you coming to a pride parade with us?"_ _

__"I can call and ask."_ _

__"Do that," he says, then turns to everyone else. "Alright, it's time to rock and roll!"_ _

"And how, exactly, do we do that?" Bucky asks.

____

"I do all the work in this damn hotel," Sam mutters under his breath before raising his voice. "Maria, you brought the hats?" She nods, dumping a bunch of wide-brimmed straw hats onto the floor. He hands her and Clint each one of those weirdly thick Sharpies. "Write our names way too big on them. I need to make sure we keep track of everyone in our group. Steve, Bucky, you're on refreshment duty. Take a big-ass bag and dump a bunch of snacks and waterbottles and shit in there. Nat, hand out the pepper spray. When you're done with your chores, come back and I'll paint your face."

____

And, obviously, it's Sam's world and they're all living in it, so they obey and end up walking out the door with giant bi flags on their cheeks (Peter's the only outlier with the pink, blue, and yellow) and sunscreen slathered on their arms and legs and obnoxious hats hiding the sun from their eyes ten minutes later.

____

(Without Sam, it'd probably take about an hour for them to get ready. They'd also probably forget the sunscreen.)

____

Bucky grabs Steve's hand before they walk into the giant group of people in colorful shirts and waving giant flags. Steve jumps.

__"Just to make sure you don't get lost," he explains, and Steve relaxes._ _

__"Yeah," he says sarcastically. "It'd be so easy to lose _me_ here."_ _

__A lady in stilts and a long purple weave reaching the ground steps over their joined hands._ _

__"I stand corrected," Steve shrugs._ _

__"I mean it'd be hard to lose you with the hat and the bod," Bucky drawls, placing his free palm on Steve's chest, "but I'm not about to take any chances."_ _

__"Scared I'll go off and punch a homophobe?" he teases, but it's ruined by the sudden scratchiness of his voice. He clears his throat and reaches for a waterbottle. Bucky smirks, probably at something in his head._ _

__"I'm here for PR purposes," Bucky agrees._ _

__"You aren't doing a great job hiding me from the paparazzi," Steve says, nodding to the curious pair of girls in matching lesbian flag shirts and pink miniskirts taking pictures from a distance. Bucky turns around, hand flying off Steve's chest so he can wave. They giggle and disappear into the crowd._ _

__"Of course," Bucky says, turning back to him. "Why would we ever hide you?"_ _

__"So these don't go viral like the nail video," he offers._ _

__"This has nothing to do with both of us being bisexual men holding hands at a pride parade, does it?"_ _

__"Oh, yeah, how'd you know you were bi?"_ _

__Something in Bucky's eyes brightens, like he's just understood something. Steve's suddenly kind of scared._ _

__"Just a friend," he says vaguely. "And you?"_ _

__"Guess I always did," Steve shrugs._ _

__"Guys!" Clint yells, tossing his arms around them. He's completely covered in gold glitter._ _

__"Why the fuck are you glittery, Barton?" Steve demands, brushing it off his shirt as best he can with one hand._ _

__"It's a pride parade, Steve," he says with an eyeroll. "Anyways, three people have asked for a picture with me, so I'm basically a celebrity."_ _

__"You're a high-profile superhero," Bucky informs him gently._ _

__"Why isn't there Hawkeye merch available in every store, then?" Steve fires back less gently._ _

__"Rude," Clint huffs. "Anyways, there's a churro cart that's apparently part of the parade every year, so do you guys have any money?"_ _

__Bucky presses a $10 bill into his hand. "You owe me."_ _

__"You'll receive your money back via vent or PayPal," Clint assures him, then disappears into the crowd._ _

__"Your hand's so sweaty," Bucky says to Steve._ _

__"Sorry," he responds, moving to pull away, but Bucky tightens his grip._ _

__"I don't really mind it."_ _

__Steve smiles._ _

__Bucky smiles._ _

__His heart does the weird thing._ _

__His breath hitches._ _

___God,_ he needs more water._ _

__"Dude, you're literally going to finish the whole supply."_ _

__"We packed for ten supersoldiers, I don't think that's true. Plus, there's no way this sun's good for me."_ _

__"That's ridiculous. You're genetically modified to adjust to pretty much anything."_ _

__"My metabolism's constantly burning. Gotta feed it."_ _

__Bucky's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What does that have to do with the sun?"_ _

__Steve really didn't think through his argument._ _

__"Hey, guys!" Peter exclaims, running up in front of them. Steve thinks he can see a panicked Sam darting through the crowd to get him back._ _

__"Hey, Pete," Bucky says, blissfully ignorant of the adult man looking for Peter crazily. "Wanna get on my shoulders?"_ _

__"Could you lift me?" he asks dubiously._ _

__Bucky crouches down. Peter darts behind him and clambers up, and without loosening his grip on Steve's hand, Bucky stands up easily, the other hand steadying Peter's calf, Peter's arms spread in a wide T (either for balance or for the meme)._ _

__"Should I make you move like the rat from Ratatouille?" Peter asks. "Pull your hair and make you go from side to side?"_ _

__"I'm wearing a hat," Bucky says flatly._ _

__"That's an easy fix," Peter informs him, then starts to take the hat off. Bucky slaps his hand._ _

__"New York's a brick oven in the summer, kid," he says. "It'd be better if you didn't."_ _

__"Now I'll never live out my lifelong dream of being Remi the rat," Peter says sadly._ _

__Steve grins. "Wow, that's sad."_ _

__"Don't say it—" Peter starts warningly._ _

__"ALEXA, PLAY DESPACITO!" Steve and Bucky yell._ _

__"Found them!" Nat calls from behind them._ _

__"God, for two decently-sized dudes wearing stupid hats, you sure are hard to find," Maria tells them._ _

__"Nah, you're just dumb," Clint says, clasping a hand over her shoulder as he walks up, now covered in glitter _and_ cinnamon._ _

__"I literally run the Avengers," she says. "Who's the dumb one now?"_ _

__"I thought Clint had always been the dumb one," Sam says._ _

__"He still is," Nat, Steve, and Maria answer._ _

__Clint sniffs. "I can still shoot better than all of you."_ _

__"Who even uses arrows anymore?" Nat asks._ _

__"Me! It works for the rogue, bad-boy aesthetic!"_ _

__"It just makes you seem old," Maria says._ _

__"I'm a millennial like you guys. Give me my rights back."_ _

__"Are we millennials?" Steve asks. "Like, Bucky and I?"_ _

__"You look, talk, and act like millennials," Peter says. "Without the substantial debt in a failing economy, of course. Being Captain America seems to have its perks."_ _

__"Cheers to that, kid," Sam says, and they fist-bump, completely ignoring the fact that Steve and Bucky were born in the early twentieth century and that his logic is completely flawed._ _

__"I'll never be in debt," Nat shrugs._ _

__"That's quite a bold statement," Bucky says._ _

__She lifts a wallet out of her back pocket, flips it open, and shows him his own ID and the dog tags tucked inside the clear plastic pouch in the middle. He snatches it back._ _

__"I take it back. You'll never be in debt."_ _

__"Imagine keeping your dog tags for over seventy years," Clint laughs. "I lose everything."_ _

__Nat snorts. "You put stuff in your pockets and then travel through vents upside-down. Of course you lose everything."_ _

__"Those weren't mine," Bucky says. "Steve and I always traded 'em before a mission for luck."_ _

__He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to._ _

__"You still got Bucky's?" Clint asks Steve._ _

__"Left my wallet at home," he says, "but yeah."_ _

__"God, what'm I gonna do when you go on missions?" Bucky asks suddenly._ _

__"Worry for his sorry ass from home?" Sam suggests._ _

__"I mean, obviously, but what else?"_ _

__"House-spouse?" Nat jokes._ _

__He grins, probably remembering the conversation with May from a few nights ago. "House-spouse," he repeats. "I'll keep fresh flowers in the only vase we own and burn a candle every day my love is gone and pack Pete's lunch."_ _

__Steve imagines coming home after a mission. Not the Avengers Tower or the motel he's staying in for the week, but his actual, solid home, with the giant grey couch with a tortilla blanket thrown over one arm and Bucky's SPF lotion next to his aftershave in the bathroom._ _

__It's to the sound of everyone cackling together that another puzzle piece clicks into place._ _

__(And the next day, when Steve opens Twitter like he used to open the morning newspaper, he sees the same dozen pictures of him and Bucky and Pete and everyone else at Pride, all captioned "captain america really said 'fuck republicans'" and "is that kid capTAIN AMERICA AND WAR HERO BUCKY BARNES' SON WHAT THE FUCK" and "fellas is it gay to attend pride with the man you've called your best friend for your whole life and hold his hand with bi flags on both of your faces", with #thebiiconswedeserve number one on Trending in America. So he laughs. And he shows them to Bucky, who also laughs._ _

__But he feels the puzzle crumble just a little, like something he thought he knew isn't real.)_ _

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gang gang + peter @ pride makes me so happy to think about i'm sorry anyways school sux take this trash and roll with it


End file.
